.#%,. 


^ 


WIDOW    SPRIGGINS, 

AND  OTHER  SKETCHES. 


MRS.  F.  M.  WIIITCHER, 

AUTHOR  OP 


"WIDOW   BEDOTT    PAPEES." 


BDITKD,   WITH   A   MEMOIR, 

BY    MRS.    M.    L.    WARD   WHITCHER. 


With  Comic  IlludratioTis. 


<&. 


NEW    YORK: 

Geo,    W,    Carleton    <2f    Co.,   P2tblishers, 

LONDON:  S.  LOW,  SON  &  CO. 

MDCCCLXVII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  tlie  year  ISfj?,  by 

G.    W.    CAKIiETON    &    CO., 

In  tlie  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New 
York. 


J.  E.  Farwell  &  Co., 

Stereotj'pers  and  Printers, 

37  Congress  Struct, 

Boston. 


'mJ   w  ■-,     r  ■«* 


CO]>^TENTS.    (  -f ^  /g 


BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION ,11 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS 39 

CHAPTER  I. 

I  DESCRIBE  MTSEI-F  — I  GO  TO    BOAKDING    SCHOOI,— I  HAVE    A  BEAU  — MY    HEARTLESS    PA- 

KINX  — I  LOBSQUANDER  FROM    THE  HUM    OF  MY  TOUTHHOOD  —  I  WRITE  SOME  VAISE3       .      39 

CHAPTER  n. 

I  MAKE  HIGGINS  PATENT  MY  NATYVE  PLACK  —  I  WRITE  TO  MY  CKEWIL  PARINT  — I  HAVE  A 
NEW  LUVER,  AND  I  EGSEPT  HIM  — I  GIT  A  LETTER  FROM  MY  CREWIL  PAKINT  AND  I  CON- 
CLUDE TO  ESTABLISH  A  SiMMINARY— I  WRITE  SUM  STANZYS  BY  MOONLIGHT       •  47 

CHAPTER  HI. 

I  AVRITE  AN  ADVERTTZEMENT  FOR  MY  SIMMINARY  — I  OBTAIN  MY  WARDROBES  AND  I  RE- 
CEIVE CALLS  FROM  MY  PATRONERS  — I  RELATE  TO  THEM  MY  MAWLONCOLLY  EOSPERIENCE 

—  I  WRITE  AN  EPIGRANNY 66 

CHAPTER  IV. 

I  BEGIN  MY  SiMMINARY    AND  I  TEACH  — I  MEET    JABEZ   SPRIGOINS  —  I    WRITE   SOME  VAISES 

—  I  GIT  INVITED  TO  A  PARTY .07 

CHAPTER  V. 

I  DRESS  UP  AND   GO  TO  A  PARTY  —  I  HAVE  SOME  ADVENTURS  THERE  —  I  WRITE  A  POETICAL 


CONFUSION 


77 


CHAPTER  VI. 

jABEZ   SPRIGGINS    PROPOSES  —  I  HAVE  COMPANY  TO    TEA— I    WRITE  SOME    STANZYS  TO  JA- 
BEZ  SPRIGGINS 

CHAPTER  VII. 

I  GET  KETCHED  IN  A  SHOWER  —  THE  GENTLEMEN  ESCORTS  ME  TO  MY  SiMMINARY  —  I  WRITE 


AN  Ode 


m6'9941 


94 


6  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

1  HEAR  OF    MY    MATERNAL  PARINT'S  ILLNESS,  AND   I   START    FOR  HUM  — I  HEAR  OF  PHILAN- 

uer's  getting   married   and  1  have    Higustericks  —  I  write  some  Poitry  on  a 
Lament  and  I  don't  speak  to  Nobody 104 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Stage  gits  upsot— I  loose  my  Chist  — I  have  grate  Tribbelations,  and  I 
write  some  Lines  and  have  some  Lines  dedicated  to  me 113 

CHAPTER  X. 

I  find  my  Chist  — I  go  to  New  Hartford  to  Meetin'  —  I  make  a  grate  Sensation, 
and  then  I  GO  Hum— I  hear  of  my  maternal  Mother's  Death  — and  at  her 
Grave  I  write  a  fugitive  Fragment 123 

CHAPTER  XI. 

JaBEZ  SPRIGGINS  comes  once  more  to  see  me  — I  DISCOVER  MY  AFFECTION  FOE  HIM  —  HE 
proposes,  LIKE  LORD  MORTIMER — I  WRITE  SOME  BLANK  POITRY  — 1  GO  TO  UTICA  AND 
GET  MARRIED,   AND  THEN  I   DON'T  SAY  NO  MOKE 133 


MARY  ELMER,  OR  TRIALS  AND  CHANGES. 
CHAPTER  I. 

Mrs.  Lee  — Mrs.  Grant  and  her  Daughter  Susan  Elmer .     143 

CHAPTER  II. 

Mi:s  Lee's  Visit  to  Mrs.  Elmer 156 

CHAPTER  III. 

Mrs.  Lee's  Departure- A  Note,  and  Sam  Ludlow .  170 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Mrs.  Elmer's  Hemoval,  and  a  new  Friend J78 

CHAPTER  V. 

Maky  Elmer  goes  to  live  with  Mrs.  Smith 187 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Day  at  Mrs.  Smith's— the  Dog  Bounce *;  .  '  "Ti^  ,       .       .       .     199 


CONTENTS.  7 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Jerusha's  Stokt— a  Change  in  Mks.  Smith's^  domestic  Akrangements    ....    216 

CHAPTER  YIII. 

Mks.  Smith  receives  a  Call  from  a  new  Acquaintance 230 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Mary  Elmer  goes  Home— a  Funeral 244 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Dream,  and  a  Walk  in  the  Graveyard  253 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Aid  Society ona 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Conclusion 


276 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE  .'    ' 297 

AUNT  MAGWIRE'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  MISSION  TO  MUFFLETEGAWNY     ....  345 

GOING  TO  SEE  THE  PRESIDENT 36J 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION, 


j^^^HE  favorable  reception  whicli  itfie  public  gave  to 
^^^l^i  the  Widow  Bedott  Papers,  by  Mrs.  F.  M. 
Whitcher,  has  induced  the  publication  of  another 
volume  of  the  works  of  the  same  author. 

It  is  a  natural  desire  that  we  wish  to  know  soraethino; 
of  the  personal  history  of  those  who  have  amused  or  in- 
terested us,  and  the  reader  feels  a  claim  upon  a  favorite 
writer,  kindred  to  the  claims  of  friendship. 

For  this  reason,  we  have  deemed  it  not  inappropriate  to 
accompany  the  present  collection  with  a  brief  biographical 
sketch  of  their  author. 

It  might  at  first  be  supposed,  that  the  life  of  one  whose 
writings  prove  her  to  have  possessed  such  a  remarkable  va- 
riety of  talents,  must  furnish  rich  and  abundant  material  for 
an  extended  memoir.  But  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  that 
true  '*  genius"  is  often  allied  to  great  delicacy  and  re- 
serve of  character.  And  thus  while  it  was  apjiarent  to  all 
who  knew  Mrs.  Whitcher,  that  she  was  a  person  of  supe- 
rior intellect,  she  was  perhaps  in  every  respect  the  oppo- 
site of  all  that  we  learn  from  the  term,  *'  a  strong-minded 
woman."       And    so    singularly    modest    and    unobtrusive 

(11) 


12  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

were  her  habits,  that  her  life  might  safely  yield  in  variety 
of  incident,  to  the  humblest  champion  of  woman's  rights, 
or  the  most  obscure  victim  of  woman's  wrongs. 

While  her  only  claim  to  eminence  is  found  in  the  re- 
markable genius  which  her  writings  display;  a  respect 
for  that  shrinking  timidity  with  which  she  ever  avoided 
publicity,  seems  to  forbid  us  to  do  more  than  to  dwell 
upon  those  features  of  her  character  which  are  in  some 
degrf'.e  the  property  of  her  readers,  and  our  sketch,  there- 
fore, will  necessarily  be  meagre;  but  we  shall  enrich 
it  with  such  extracts  from  her  letters  and  her  poems,  as 
will  give  to  the  appreciative  reader  a  better  idea  of  her 
mental  qualities  than  can  be  conveyed  in  any  words  of 
our  own. 

Mrs.  Frances  Miriam  Whitcher,  was  the  daughter  of 
Mr.  Lewis  Berry,  and  was  born  at  Whitestown,  Oneida 
County,  New  York,  on  the  first  day  of  November,  1811. 

This  village  shares  with  the  township  the  name  of  its 
earliest  settlers,  and  is  one  of  the  oldest,  as  well  as  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  villages  In  Central  New  York. 

That  fine  scenery  which  everywhere  marks  the  valley  of 
the  Mohawk  River,  is  spread  out  with  particular  magnifi- 
cence and  beauty,  in  this  immediate  locality.  The  beauti- 
ful hills,  the  broad,  luxuriant  valley,  and  the  gently 
flowing  waters  of  the  river,  are  among  its  natural  attrac- 
tions, while  the  noble  elms,  which  cast  their  grateful 
siiadows  over  its  principal  street,  are  a  pleasant  and  per- 
petual memorial  of  those  who  might  be  truly  termed  its 
*'  first  families." 

In  its  earlier  history,  Whitestown  was  the  shire  town 
of  Oneida  County,  and  the  courts  being  held  here,  added 
to  its  other  attractions    as  a  home  for  gentlemen  of  the 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION.  13 

legal  profession.  Many  whose  names  have  been  high  in 
forensic  distinction  and  brilliant  upon  the  pages  of  his- 
tory, were  then  counted  among  its  citizens,  and  gave  to 
the  social  circle  of  that  time  a  character  for  liberal  culture 
and  refined  taste  inferior  to  none  in  the  State. 

Thus,  fortunately,  her  early  associations  were  such  as  not 
only  furnished  examples  of  superior  mental  excellence,  but 
were  well  calculated  to  develop  those  germs  of  latent 
genius,  the  possession  of  which  she  showed  even  in  child- 
hood. 

While  yet  only  two  years  old,  and  ignorant  of  her  al- 
phabet, she  learned  to  recite  long  pieces  of  poetry,  and 
very  early  began  making  rhymes  herself.  The  first  of 
these  of  which  any  record  is  preserved,  is  a  parody  on  the 
familiar  verses  entitled  "My  Mother,"  which  were  common 
in  the  juvenile  Readers  of  that  time.  The  ''  Grandfather" 
alluded  to  in  the  parcdy,  was  a  member  of  her  father's 
family,  with  whom  the  child  was  far  from  being  a  favorite. 
Her  lines  ran  thus  :  — 

Who  was  it,  when  our  friends  were  here, 
And  in  the  room  I  did  appear, 
Said,  "  This  is  Middy,  she's  our  dear  "  ? 
My  Grandfather. 

Who  was  it,  when  I  swept  the  floor. 
Would  make  me  sweep  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  say,  "  Come  back  and  sweep  it  more" 
My  Grandfather, 

And  when  I  let  the  platter  fall, 
Who  said,  as  loud  as  he  could  bawl, 
"Now  just  come  back  and  break  them  all  "? 
My  Grandfather. 

A  short  time  previous  to  the  composition  of  this  parody, 

o 


14  BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION. 

when  five  years  old,  she  made  "  her  first  pictorial  ex- 
ploit," as  she  afterward  termed  it,  by  drawing  the  likeness 
of  an  old  gentleman,  who,  by  familiar,  but  not  Intention- 
ally offensive  joking,  had  Incurred  her  displeasure. 

The  circumstance  forms  the  subject  of  the  first  picture 
In  a  series  of  humorous  sketches,  which  were  made  years 
afterward  for  a  friend  to  whom  she  had  promised  an  illus- 
trated volume  of  her  life. 

Her  first  teacher  seems  to  have  been  an  antiquated 
maiden,  who  did  not  sufficiently  gain  her  respect  to  escape 
her  ridicule  ;  for  we  find  her  in  the  same  series  In  many 
sketches,  where  the  position  evidently  was  not  chosen  for 
the  benefit  of  the  sitter. 

From  this  juvenile  Institution  she  was  promoted  to  the 
primary  department  of  the  village  academy,  where  her 
mirth-loving  propensities  found  a  new  and  wider  field  for 
exercise,  which  she  did  not  fail  to  improve  ;  for  here  noth- 
ing capable  of  a  ludicrous  construction  escaped  her  deli- 
cacy to  perceive,  and  ability  to  portray;  and  while  this 
''mischief"  often  brought  her  under  discipline,  her  pun- 
ishments we  find,  in  turn,  made  the  subjects  of  her 
sketches — so  emphatically  did  her  ruling  passion  "  grow 
by  what  it  fed  on." 

A  better  account  of  this  may  be  learned  from  her  own 
words,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Alice  B.  Neal,  a  friend  to  whom 
she  was  known  only  through  the  medium  of  the  pen,  and 
the  sympathy  of  kindred  intellectual  tastes. 

"  Your  last  kind  letter  was  very  gratifying.  The  ac- 
quisition of  a  new  friend  is  a  source  of  great  pleasure  to 
me ;  for  I  assure  you  that  it  has  never  been  my  lot  to 
have  many  friends.  You  possess  the  happy  faculty  of 
drawing  all  hearts  at  once  to  you  ;  but  I,  unfortunately, 


BIOGRAPIIICAL    INTRODUCTION.  1  ;3 

do  not.  And  I  will  tell  you  what  I  believe  to  be  the 
secret  of  it :  I  received,  at  my  birth,  the  undesirable  gift 
of  a  remarkably  strong  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  I  can 
scarcely  remember  the  time  when  the  neighbors  were  not 
afraid  that  I  would  '  make  fun  of  them.'  For  indulmuir 
in  this  propensity,  I  was  scolded  at  home,  and  wept  over 
and  prayed  with,  by  certain  well-meaning  old  maids  in 
the  neighborhood ;  but  all  to  no  purpose.  The  only  re- 
ward of  their  labors  was  frequently  their  likenesses  drawn 
in  charcoal  and  pinned  to  the  corners  of  their  shawls, 
with,  perhaps,  a  descriptive  verse  below.  Of  course  I  had 
not  many  friends,  even  among  my  own  playmates.  And 
yet,  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  deviltry,  there  was  a  warm, 
affectionate  heart  — if  any  were  really  kind  to  me,  how  1 
loved  them  !  " 

One  little  picture  in  the  series  alluded  to  from  her 
*' ideal  world,"  which  has  pleased  us  particularly,  is  en- 
titled *'  The  Adventure."  It  is  thus  described  by  herself, 
during  a  walk  on  the  banks  of  the  river  about  a  mile  from 
her  home,  —  she  related  to  her  companions  thus  : — 

*'  Once  I  was  walking  here,  when  1  saw  on  that  stump 
of  a  tree  a  beautiful  Bible  ail  bound  in  gold  lying  open. 
I  started  to  get  it,  when  a  little  angel  with  shining  wings 
came  flying  down  towards  it,  and  when-  I  reached  the 
place  the  book  was  a  heap  of  ashes,  and  the  angel  was 
gone." 

Her  school  education  w^as  completed  in  her  native  vil- 
lage, with  the  exception  of  some  lessons  in  French,  from 
a  very  superior  teacher  in  the  neighboring  city  of  Utica, 
where  she  acquired  a  high  proficiency  in  that  language, 
but  with  an  instinctive  horror  of  affectation  and  display, 
she  always  avoided,  both  in  conversation  and  in  writing, 
the  use  of  any  foreign  words  or  phrases. 


16  BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION. 

In  the  art  of  drawing,  In  which  she  has  left  such  abun- 
dant proof  of  her  taste  and  skill,  her  only  instruction  was 
a  few  hints  from  a  similarly  gifted  relative. 

In  epistolary  correspondence  she  particularly  excelled, 
her  pen  gliding  without  an  effort  into  rhyme,  and  making 
the  most  trivial  occurrences  attractive  by  her  happy  power 
of  expression,  as  well  as  by  the  most  life-like  pen  draw- 
ings, with  which  her  letters  are  embellished,  and  in  which 
she  often  introduced  herself  in  some  most  ludicrous  or 
preposterous  manner. 

Nothing  was  allowed  to  escape  her  pencil  or  her  pen, 
and  even  the  every-day  occurrences  in  a  quiet  family  fur- 
nished material,  which  when  embellished  by  her  genius, 
became  amusing  and  interesting.  The  following  mock  se- 
rious lines  on  the  death  of  a  pet  crow,  show  her  ability  to 
mingle  the  ridiculous  with  the  sublime  :  — 


No  sig-h  was  heard,  no  tear  was  shed, 
And  not  a  word  was  spoken, 

But  the  pale  cheek  and  drooping  head 
Told  how  their  hearts  were  broken. 


There  was  no  outward  sign  of  woe, 
Though  every  hope  had  failed  'em, 

A,  chance  observer  scarce  would  know 
That  aught  uncommon  ailed  'em  I 

Manhood  and  youth  and  age  were  there, 
Touched  with  the  same  deep  sorrow; 

They  thouglit  of  one  whom  they  must  bear 
To  his  barn-yard  grave,  to-morrow. 

There  in  an  old  tin  pan  he  lay. 
The  once  beloved  and  cherished  ; 

Alas,  how  soon  he  passed  a^yay, 
How  cruelly  he  perished  I 


BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION.  1.7 

And  one  was  there,  once  gay  and  Bpry, 

'Twas  one  that  did  adore  him; 
A  maniac  glare  was  in  her  eye, 

She  silently  bent  o'er  him. 

She  loved  the  dear  departed  crow 

Like  dearest  friend,  or  brother, 
And  watched  his  infant  graces  grow. 

Just  like  some  tender  mother. 

Love,  like  some  tender  flower  of  earth, 

Long  in  her  heart  had  wasted ; 
Tom,  like  the  sun,  had  called  it  forth, 

And  death,  like  winter,  blasted. 

Her  grief  was  silent,  dark,  and  deep, 

For,  oh,  she  loved  him,  dearly  ; 
'Tis  never  those  who  loudest  weep, 

That  sorrow  most  sincerely. 

There  is  a  grief  that  dwells  within,— 

A  grief  beyond  my  telling ; 
When  all  the  outward  man  grows  thin, 

But  oh,  the  heart  keeps  swelling. 

They  tied  his  feet  with  cotton  yarn, 

And  to  his  grave  they  bore  him  ; 
They  buried  him  low  behind  the  barn, 

And  stuck  two  shingles  o'er  him. 

Then  burst  the  torrent  of  her  grief, 

That  long  had  lain  concealed ; 
Her  inward  woes  found  some  relief, 

In  being  thus  revealed. 

"  Oh  never  more,"  she  wildly  cried, 

"  His  cheerful  voice  shall  greet  me  j 
He'll  never  wander  by  my  side. 

He'll  never  fly  to  meet  me. 

"  He  used  to  get  upon  my  chair 
When  I  was  busy  sewing  j 

2* 


iS  BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION. 

And  tangle  up  my  braided  hair, 
Almost  without  my  knowing. 

"  He  used  to  steal  my  knitting  sheath, 
His  legs  were  wondrous  nimble, 

And  once  I  ducked  him  most  to  death 
For  carrying  olT  my  thimble, 

"  But  let  his  faults  forg-otten  be. 
For  he   has  gone  forever  ; 

His  like  again  we  ne'er  shall  see, 
Oh,  never  I  never  1 1  never ! ! 1 " 

Some  words  of  comfort  then  I  said, 
In  vain  those  words  Avcre  spoken ; 
Dsspondingly  she  shook  her  head,  — 
1  knew  her  heart  was  broken. 


The  views  and  opinions  of  John  Calvin  were  believed 
and  taught  more  than  any  other  system  of  religious 
doctrine,  in  her  native  village  at  that  time  ;  and  she  was 
baptized  in  infancy,  early  instructed  in  the  shorter  cate- 
chism, and  while  yet  in  her  teens,  was,  at  tlie  close  of  a 
revival,  received  into  membership  with  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  a  connection  which  was  for  many  years  retained. 
Her  religious  feeling  and  attachments  at  this  time  are  very 
pleasantly  recorded  in  her  lines  on  the  removal  of  the  old 
church. 


All  silently  the  twilight  falls. 

This  ancient  temple  round, 
And  mournfully  within  these  walls 

My  echoing  footsteps  sound. 

Well  may  this  heart  with  sorrow  swell. 
These  tears  of  sorrow  flow, 

I  come  to  breathe  a  last  farewell, 
A  last  sad  look  bestow. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION.  19 


No  more  shall  bands  of  brethren  meet 

Within  this  hallowed  place, 
To  worship  at  a  Saviour's  feet, 

And  seek  a  Saviour's  face. 

No  more  the  inquiring  crowd  shall  press 

To  learn  the  road  to  heaven; 
Nor  here  the  bleeding  heart  find  peace, 

The  mourner  feel  forgiven . 

No  more  the  word  of  life  shall  fall 
From  hearts  with  love  that  burn, 

Nor  truth  invite,  nor  mercy  call 
The  wanderer  to  return. 

No  longer  here  shall  music  roll 

Its  thrilling  strains  along. 
Nor  pure  devotion  lift  the  soul, 

In  union  with  the  song. 

Here  often  hath  my  God  revealed 
His  goodness  and  His  power  ; 

But  now,  old  Church,  thy  doom  is  sealed, 
And  thou  must  be  no  more. 

I  stand  alone  within  these  walls  ; 

There  is  no  being  nigh 
To  check  the  bitter  tear  that  falls, 

Or  chide  the  rising  sigh. 

I  weep,  dear  consecrated  spot, 

That  thou  must  cease  to  be. 
And  oft,  full  oft,  when  thou  art  not. 

Shall  memory  turn  to  thee. 

1  love  thy  sacred  aisles  I  —  'twas  here 
Where  first  my  footsteps  trod. 

And  mother  gave,  with  holy  fear. 
That  little  one  to  God. 

And  oh  !  'twas  here  that  awful  vow, 
To  be  the  Lord's,  was  spoken ! 


20  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

The  painful  thought  comes  o'er  me  now, 
How  oft  that  vow  I've  broken. 

Alas  I   my  soul,  how  oft  thy  wings, 

E'en  in  the  house  of  God, 
Have  sunk  'neath  vain  imaginings. 

And  kissed  earth's  fleeting  clod.      * 

I  love  this  place  I    While  musing  here 
On  pleasures  known  no  more, 

Some  pleasant  thoughts  of  former  years 
Float  my  lone  spirit  o'er. 

Here  I  was  wont  to  sit  with  some 
1  loved  in  childhood's  day ; 

Many  are  in  the  silent  tomb, 
And  many  far  away. 

Here  have  I  gazed  with  tearful  eye, 

Upon  the  death-cold  brow 
Of  some  whose  spirits  dwell  on  liigh, 

Wliose  forms  are  mould'ring  low. 

Perchance  e'en  now  tliat  sainted  throng, 

Those  spirits  of  tlie  dead. 
May  glide  these  ancient  aisles  among, 

Where  they  were  wont  to  tread. 

Methinks  they've  left  those  realms  of  light 
And  glory,  wliere  they  dwell, 

And  hover  o'er  this  place  to-night, 
That  once  they  loved  so  well. 

And  many  forms  remembered  well, 
And  once  most  dear  to  me. 

Who  long  have  ceased  on  earth  to  dwell, 
Among  that  band  I  see. 

Methinks  I  see  that  blest  one,  too, 

So  lovely  and  so  dear  ; 
Who,  scarce  one  little  month  ago, 

Was  sweetly  singing  here. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION.  21 

Young  Harriet,  who  with  dying  breath, 

Tlie  Saviour's  love  confessed. 
Exulting  raised  a  song  in  death, 

And,  swan-like,  sunk  to  lest. 

Sweet  spirit  I  lift  tliat  tuneful  voice 

As  thou  wert  wont  of  yore, 
Let  these  devoted  walls  rejoice 

In  thy  sweet  strains  once  more. 

'Tis  gone !    The  heav'nly  train  is  flown  ! 

The  sweet  illusion  fades  ! 
And  I  am  musing  here  alone, 

'Mid  evening's  gath'ring  shades. 

Farewell!  doomed  temple  of  the  Lord, 

For  thee  ray  tears  shall  flow  ; 
1  grieve  to  speak  the  parting  word; 

With  ling'riug  steps  I  go. 

What,  though  upon  this  sacred  spot 

A  statelier  pile  1  see  ; 
Dear  house  of  God,  when  thou  art  not, 

Shall  memory  turn  to  thee. 

Later  in  life  she  found  in  the  doctrines  and  teachings  of 
the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  a  system  of  religion 
more  congenial  with  her  taste,  and  more  in  harmony  with 
her  judgment. 

In  person  Mrs.  Whitcher  was  above  the  medium  heiglit, 
erect  in  figure,  stately  in  her  walk,  with  an  air  of  reserve 
and  dignity.  Her  large  dark  eyes  were  full  of  expression 
and  soft  liquid  light.  Her  hair  of  glossy  black  was  al- 
ways kept  in  the  most  tasteful  and  careful  manner,  while 
her  dress  showed  scrupulous  neatness,  and  was  character- 
ized more  by  an  absence  of  bad  taste,  than  by  any  effort 
at  effect  in  its  arransrement. 

o 

One    who  often   met  her    has  said  in    our    hearing, 


22  BIOGRAFIIICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

*'  It  seemed  to  me  Mrs.  Whitcher  always  wore  the  same 
dress,"  a  remark  that  shows  that  she  apj^reclated  that  sen- 
sible maxim,  that  ''  to  be  well  dressed,  a  lady's  attire 
should  be  so  arranged  as  never  to  excite  a  thought." 

She  possessed  a  high  degree  of  conversational  ability 
in  the  circle  of  congenial  friends ;  their  presence  seemed 
to  inspire  her,  and  to  develop  many  little  graces  and  at- 
tractions which  the  first  critical  glance  frightened  away,  so 
much  that  among  strangers  and  ordinary  acquaintances, 
she  became  reserved  and  timid  to  a  degree  which  was 
often  regarded  as  haughtiness  and  pride,  or  a  sense  of 
conscious  superiority.  But  amid  the  genial  circle  of  fa- 
miliar friends,  her  eye  brightened  with  intelligence,  her 
features  glowed  with  enthusiasm,  while  the  liquid  and  har- 
monious flow  of  her  words  possessed  almost  the  charming 
power  of  music. 

The  story  of  the  Widow  Spriggins  was  among  the  ear- 
lier productions  of  her  pen,  and  was  originally  written  for 
'*  The  Majonian  Circle,"  a  social  and  literary  association, 
sustained  by  persons  of  taste  and  ability.  The  liter- 
ary productions  of  the  Circle  were  presented  to  its  mem- 
bers in  the  form  of  a  paper,  which  was  for  some  time 
called  "  The  Momus,"  a  name  which  it  fully  merited. 
Among  the  members  oF  the  Circle,  however,  there  were 
some  who  deemed  the  paper  too  much  devoted  to  "  the 
harmless  comedy  of  life,"  and  it  was  accordingly  changed 
in  name,  and  somewhat  in  character,  to  "  The  Mi\3onian." 
The  circumstances  form  the  subject  of  an  article  from  tlie 
"Ma3onian,"  which   may  be  found   in   the  present  volume. 

The  Widow  Spriggins'  articles  were  afterward  favor- 
ably, though  not  very  extensively,  introduced  to  the  pub- 
lic  by  Mr.  Calvert  Comstock,  late   editor  of  the    Albany 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION.  2o 

Argus,  who  was  at  that  time  editing  a  weekly  paper  at 
Eome,  New  York,  and  was  a  personal  friend  of  their 
author. 

She  received  no  pecuniary  compensation  for  any  of  her 
articles,  until  the  summer  of  1846,  when  she  became  a 
regular  contributor  to  '*  Neal's  Saturday  Gazette."  Its 
editor,  who  was  a  humorist  of  acknowledged  ability, 
highly  appreciated  the  genius  of  his  contributor.  But 
neither  his  enthusiastic  praise,  nor  the  flattering  reception 
with  which  her  productions  were  received  by  its  readers, 
could  overcome  her  habitual  self-distrust  and  timidity.  In 
a  letter  accompanying  one  of  the  Bedotts,  she  says  :  — 

*'  I  fear  criticism  ;  I  fear  '  the  world's  dread  laugh.'  I 
fear  a  repulse,  a  ftillure  ;  there  are  a  thousand  things  to 
make  me  shrink  from  taking  a  step  which  may  look  like 
courting  publicity;  and  I  assure  you,  nothing  but  the 
hope  of  one  day  reaping  some  pecuniary  benefit,  induces 
me  to  offer  myself  as  a  contributor  to  your  paper." 

On  the  sixth  of  January,  1847,  she  was  married  to  the 
Eev.  B.  W.  Whitcher,  and  In  the  following  spring  re- 
moved to  Elmira,  Chemung  County,  where  Mr.  Whitcher 
assumed  the  pastoral  care  of  St.  Peter's  church. 

The  following  playful  rhyming  letter,  written  during 
her  husband's  temporary  absence  from  home,  a  few  days 
after  their  marriage,  may  not  be  Inappropriate  here. 

I  will  weave  an  idle  rhyme,  dear, 

A  simple  rhyme  for  thee, 
For  it  seems  a  weary  time,  dear, 

Since  yester  morn  to  me. 
It  seems  a  long,  lonr^  while,  dear, 

That  I've  been  left  alone  ; 
And  1  miss  thy  cheerful  smile,  dear, 

And  I  miss  thy  kindly  tone. 


24  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

Through  the  busy  morning  hours,  dear, 

I've  missed  thy  cheering  word  ; 
While  I  watered  all  the  flowers,  dear, 

And  fed  the  little  bird. 
I've  been  busy  in  your  study,  dear, 

And  made  it  nice  and  neat. 
But  I  found  it  rather  muddy,  dear, 

(Why  don't  you  clean  your  feet  ?) 

Your  books  and  papers  all,  dear, 

I've  arranged  the  nicest  way ; 
Your  bump  of  order's  small,  dear, 

It  grieves  me  quite  to  say. 
Ere  you've  been  here  a  day,  dear, 

'Twill  look  as  bad  as  ever, 
Don't  say  I'm  Candling,  pray,  dear, 

For  I  never  mean  to  —  never. 

It  was  a  real  pleasure,  dear. 

To  fix  each  tumbled  shelf. 
And  each  old  dud  a  treasure,  dear, 

It  looked  so  like  yourself. 
I've  been  talking  with  my  mother,  dear, 

And  with  my  father,  too. 
With  my  sisters  and  my  brothers,  dear, 

And  still  the  theme  was  you. 


The  weary  day  has  flown,  dear, 

'Tis  silent  evening  now. 
And  I  am  all  alone,  dear. 

But,  Willie,  where  art  thou  ? 
And  how  employed?  not  smoking,  dear, 

Good  gracious  I  if  you  sliould,  — 
But  surely  you  were  joking,  dear. 

When  you  threatened  that  you  would. 

Good-night  —  good-night  I    God  blesa  thee, 

My  dearest  and  my  best ; 
May  no  dark  dreams  oppress  thee, 

But  angels  guard  thy  rest : 


BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION.  25 

From  every  pain  and  Borrow,  dear, 

To  guard  thy  precious  life, 
And  bring-  thee  back  to-morrow,  dear, 

To  thy  true  and  loving  wife. 

Her  peculiar  traits  of  character  were  not  particularly 
adapted  to  her  hew  sphere  of  life  ;  her  retiring  and  re- 
served disposition  illy  qualified  her  for  a  position  which 
makes  so  great  demand  upon  the  demonstrative  sympa- 
thies, as  that  of  a  clergyman's  wife.  And,  although  she 
found  in  Elmira  a  few  whose  friendship  and  kindness  wxre 
ever  held  in  grateful  remembrance,  the  greater  number 
of  her  new  acquaintances  regarded  her  with  distrust  and 
suspicion ;  and  her  greatest  pleasure  was  found  in  her 
domestic  relations.  As  a  wife,  she  was  ever  kind  and 
thoughtful,  placing  a  high  estimate  upon  her  marriage 
duties,  requiring  the  most  refined  and  exalted  tenderness, 
which  it  was  her  constant  aim  to  inspire. 

In  Elmira  the  * '  Bedott  Papers  "  were  continued  and 
completed.  The  *'Aunt  Maguire  Letters,"  published  in 
Godey's  Lady's  Book,  were  written  here,  and  a  series  in  a 
different  style  under  the  name  of  "  Letters  from  Timber- 
ville  "  were  begun,  which  her  death  left  incomplete.  A 
few  of  the  first  chapters  of  the  story  of  Mary  Elmer  were 
also  written  at  this  place. 

Though  Mrs.  Whitcher's  literary  reputation  will  perhaps 
most  particularly  be  identified  with  her  humorous  works, 
she  has  left  in  her  little  poems  and  sketches  and  in  the 
graver  composition  of  Mary  Elmer,  abundant  proof  that 
she  was  not  confined,  in  the  range  of  her  genius,  to  anyone 
department  of  literature,  but  might  have  gained  a  brilliant 
reputation  in  the  various  walks  of  authorship.  Those  who 
have  known  her  heretofore  only  as  the  author  of  mirth- 
3 


26  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

provoking  productions,  will  find  with  surprise  the  depth, 
tenderness,  and  spiritual  beauty  which  her  more  serious 
writings  reveal.  Possessing  at  the  same  time  an  eye  for  the 
ridiculous,  a  sense  of  the  grotesque  ,in  combination,  and 
the  quaint  in  character,  with  a  genuine  love  of  the  beauti- 
ful, and  admiration  of  the  grand,  her  productions  liad 
power  not  only  to  please  the  fancy,  but  to  satisfy  the  higher 
wants  of  the  mind.  Even  her  humorous  articles  do  not 
stand  upon  their  wit  alone  as  their  chief  merit ;  true,  they 
make  you  laugh,  and  thus  they  answer  the  true  test  of  their 
excellence  in  this  respect.  And  the  Widow  Bedott  might 
have  graduated  as  the  very  worst  speller  in  the  ' '  bad  spel- 
ling "  school  of  literature  so  popular  at  the  present  day, 
but  her  humor  was  always  the  vehicle  of  sense  '  *  to  point  a 
moral  or  adorn  a  tale,"  and  even  when  the  widow  discour- 
ses ''on  punkins,"  she  reads  a  wholesome  homily  to  the 
troublesome  neighbor  who  "  borroweth  and  repayeth  not 
again." 

As  an  appreciative  critic  has  said,  "  There  is  as  clear 
delineation  of  character  in  these  wTitin^^s  as  in  the  works 
of  Dickens  or  Thackeray.  They  are  the  cleverest,  as  w^ell 
as  the  most  popular  of  any  articles  of  the  kind  by  an  Amer- 
ican author.  Those  doomed  perforce  to  immortality  by 
the  hand  now  stilled  forever,  should  be  satisfied  that  they 
have  secured  what  so  many  have  labored  assiduously  to 
obtain." 

Saxe  finds  *«  it  is  a  very  serious  thing  to  be  a  funny 
man,"  and  Mrs.  Whitcher  found  it  ^'  a  very  serious  thing  " 
to  be  a  funny  woman.  Few  writers  since  the  days  of 
Coleridge  have  been  so  much  at  the  same  time  the  subject 
of  panegyric  by  their  friends  and  of  censure  from  tlicir 
enemies  ;  for  while  the  reading  public  were  convulsed  with 


BIOGRAPniCAL  INTRODUCTION.  27 

laughter  over  the  inimitable  drollery  and  cleverness  of  her 
sketches,  and  editors  were  eagerly  striving  to  secure  the 
popularity  which  her  contributions  commanded  in  whatever 
publication  they  appeared,  their  author  was  being  assailed 
with  the  greatest  vituperation  and  personal  insult  from 
those  who  fancied  they  had  unwittingly  furnished  models 
for  her  sketches  ;  and  in  one  instance  Mr.  Whitcher  was 
threatened  by  a  man  with  legal  prosecution  for  damages, 
which  Mrs.  Samson  Savage  had  done  to  characteristics 
which  he  fancied  belonged  exclusively  to  his  wife,  and 
other  less  prominent  characters  were  zealously  searched  out 
and  applied,  as  many  an  indignation  meeting  could  witness. 
*' This  means  you,"  and  "this  means  such  a  one,"  they 
said,  as  each  fitted  the  garment  to  a  neighbor's  back,  while 
all  united  in  aiming  resentment  at  the  author  with  as  much 
anger  as  if  she  had  labelled  their  parcels  with  their  individ- 
ual names. 

So  high  indeed  ran  the  tide  of  angry  feeling  that  it  soon 
became  apparent  that  Mr.  Whitcher's  usefulness  as  a 
clergyman  would  find  fewer  obstacles  in  some  other  parish. 

Such  a  result  was  entirely  unanticipated  by  Mrs. 
Whitcher.  Her  characters  were  not  designed  simply  to 
represent  individuals,  but  were  types  of  diiFerent  classes ; 
and  however  closely  they  may  apply  to  particular  persons, 
it  is  illiberal  to  so  universal  a  genius  as  hers  as  to  attempt  to 
confine  its  application  simply  to  one  locality.  But  not  in 
Elmira  alone  were  hunted  up  originals  for  her  portraits. 
A  few  weeks  after  the  publication  of  the  sewing  society 
articles,  Mrs.  Whitcher  wrote  thus  to  a  friend  : — 

"It  is  an  amusing  fact  that  several  villages  are  con- 
tending for  the  honor  of  being  the  birth-place  of  '  Mrs. 
Samson  Savage.'     A  man  from  a  village  in County 


28  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

came  into  one  of  the  bookstores  the  other  clay  to  get  some 
*  Lady's  Books/  saying  that  they  were  all  alive  about  it  in 
his    place,   because   they  had  a   *  Mrs.  Samson   Savage ' 

there.     And  we   have  heard  from ,  a  village  twenty 

miles  distant,  that  they  have  fitted  the  coat  to  a  woman 
there." 

And  yet  j\Irs.  Samson  Savage  and  Mrs.  J.  Pixley 
Smith  are  only  representatives  of  that  large  class  w^here 
ignorance  and  vulgarity  are  only  made  more  conspicuous 
by  wealth.  Sam  Ludlow  is  a  character  by  far  too  common 
in  r6al  life ;  an  unruly  son  of  a  ruling  deacon  ;  while  Per- 
milla  Spriggins  is  but  a  pitiful  illustration  of  the  eifect  of 
the  continual  reading  of  love  stories  on  vain  and  weak- 
minded  girls.  Almost  any  one  can  find  **  a  Hugelina,"  a 
would-be-literary  character  among  their  own  acquaintances, 
however  limited  the  circle  may  be. 

It  is  true  Mrs.  Whitcher  has  been  charged  with  satir- 
izing, in  some  of  her  characters,  things  which  should  be 
held  sacred  from  ridicule.  But  whether  Sam  Ludlow 
' '  gets  religion "  for  the  purpose  of  getting  hold  of  the 
*'  old  man's"  purse-strings,  or  the  Widow  Bedott  resorts 
to  Elder  Sniffles  for  religious  instruction  with  habeas  cor- 
p2is  intentions  in  her  mind  ;  if  we  examine  closely  we  find 
that  it  is  only  where  selfishness  and  hypocrisy  steal  the 
cloak  of  piety,  that  they  are  held  up  and  made  at  once 
odious  and  ridiculous. 

Few  lives  have  perhaps  furnished  better  examples  of  sin- 
cere piety  and  devotion  than  hers.  That  rare  humility  of 
which  we  have  already  spoken,  was  not  only  a  part  of  the 
ornament  of  **  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,"  but  of  one  scrupu- 
lous in  the  conscientious  discharge  of  duty.  She  not  only 
loved  the  public  services  of  the  church,  but  was  constant 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION.  29 

and  faithful  in  those  devotions  which  receive  the  promise 
of  "  Him  who  seeth  in  secret." 

The  following  lines  written  during  a  period  of  suflPerlng, 
show  how  well  she  had  learned  that  hardest  of  all  Christian 
lessons,  resignation  to  the  solemn  ascription,  *«  Thy  will 
be  done." 


Afflict  me,  Father ;  let  thy  heavy  rod 

Fall  on  my  sinful  head ; 
I  would  not  shun  the  sufferings  of  my  God, 

Whose  blood  for  me  was  shed. 

Afflict  me,  Father;  I  will  take  the  cross 

Unmurmuringly  and  still, 
By  thy  good  help;  and  bear  all  earthly  loss, 

If  I  may  do  thy  will. 

Ay,  slay  me,  Father,  and  I  will  not  fear 

The  coming  of  Death's  dart. 
If  I  may  see  the  Lord's  kind  angel  near, 

To  strengthen  my  weak  heart. 


Not  only  in  religious  duties,  but  in  the  offices  of  friend- 
ship was  she  eminently  uniform  and  faithful,  and  a  good 
impression  once  made  upon  her  feelings  was  enduring.  In 
illustration  of  this  tenacity  of  feeling,  we  insert  a  letter 
which  was  written  not  many  years  before  her  death,  and 
which  refers  to  an  aifection,  of  which  *'  Time  but  the  im- 
pression stronger  made."  This  letter  was  addressed  to  the 
same  person  as  the  one  from  which  our  former  extract  was 
made. 

*'  I  was  quite  alone  all  last  evening,  and  my  mind  wan- 
dered to  you.  I  cannot  tell  why  it  is,  but  your  idea  is 
always  associated  in  my  imagination  with  a  dear  sister  of 
mine,  who  died  at  sixteen,  when  I  was  only  five  years  old. 
3* 


30  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

I  recollect  her  perfectly.  They  say  she  was  a  genius  ;  and 
I  remember  that  she  was  beautiful  and  joyous,  and  always 
o-Qod  to  me.  I  loved  her  better  than  any  one  else.  She 
used  to  put  me  every  night  in  my  little  crib,  and  sit  and 
tell  me  stories  till  I  went  to  sleep,  and  hear  me  say  my 
prayers  and  little  hymns.  She  had  a  thousand  winning 
ways.  There  was  one  pretty  mark  of  love  that  seems  very 
pleasant  to  me  now  as  I  look  back  to  it.  She  used  often  to 
reward  me  for  being  good,  by  putting  some  trifle  under  my 
pillow  after  I  was  asleep,  and  it  made  me  so  happy  to 
wake  in  the  morning  and  find  it.  How  easy  it  is  to  please 
a  child  ! 

"  This  sweet  sister  took  more  pains  with  me  than  any- 
body else  ever  did.  It  was  a  great  calamity  that  I  lost 
her.  Yet  I  have  always  felt  that  there  was  still  a  bond 
between  us.  When  I  was  little,  I  used  to  dream  of  her 
almost  every  night,  and,  as  I  grew  older,  I  thought  about 
her  a  great  deal.  In  my  lonely  rambles,  I  often  fancied 
that  she  called  me ;  even  now  I  sometimes  think  I  can 
hear  her  distinctly  pronounce  my  name  in  the  night.  I 
know  not  why  it  is  so,  but  I  fancy  that  you  are  like  her. 
I  was  thinking  of  it  last  evening  as  I  sat  alone,  and  I  threw 
aside  my  sewing  and  scratched  down  these  simple  verses  to 

you.     View  them,  dear ,  not  us  poetry ^  but  as  a  little 

token  of  affection." 

Of  the  "  verses  "  here  mentioned,  we  will  select  two,  as 
illustrative  of  her  attachment  to  the  memory  of  her  sister, 
and  of  her  belief  in  the  intimate  union  between  departed 
spirits  and  their  friends  on  earth  :  — 

True,  some  will  call  it  faucy's  fliglit, 

And  say  it  ne'er  can  be, 
That  in  the  wakeful  hours  of  niglit 

An  angel  speaks  to  me. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION.  31 

<*  The  wondrous  and  mysteriouB  ties 
Some  hearts  can  never  know, 
That  link  the  loved  in  paradise 
With  those  they  love  below." 

Another  little  poem  addressed  to  the  same   sister   ran 
thus : — 

MY  SISTER. 

Would  I  were  sleeping  on  thy  peaceful  breast, 

Friend  of  my  infant  years ! 
Thou  who  couldst  lull  my  wayward  heart  to  rest. 

And  soothe  my  childish  fears. 

Oh,  'tis  a  blessed  thing  like  thee  to  die 

Before  the  dark  hours  come  I 
Before  the  light  reflected  from  on  high 

Is  lost  in  earthly  gloom. 

Peace  to  thee,  bud  of  paradise  I  expand 

In  the  Lord's  garden;  there, 
The  flowers  are  nurtured  by  the  Almighty  hand 

To  bloom  in  heavenly  air. 

Look  down  on  me,  O  sister !  think  of  me, 

By  sin  and  suffering  tost; 
Lonely  and  sad  ray  heart  turns  back  to  thee. 

So  loved  1  so  early  lost  I 

In  the  autumn  of  1850,  Mrs.  Whitcher  returned  to 
Whitestown.  Her  literary  labors  had  been  almost  sus- 
pended during  the  year  just  passed,  as  her  time  had  been 
occupied  in  the  care  of  her  infant  daughter.  Few  women 
have  discharged  with  higher  appreciation  or  greater  love 
their  maternal  duties,  than  was  now  shown  in  her  devotion 
to  her  child.  Her  health,  which  had  for  some  time  been 
delicate,  now  began  more  perceptibly  to  fail,  and  the  symp- 


32  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

toms  of  the  consumption,  which  for  a  long  time  had  hung 
like  a  threatening  shadow  over  her,  now  made  tlieir  pres- 
ence more  apparent.  Still  she  declined  to  receive  medical 
aid,  feeling  reluctant  to  begin  a  contest  where  the  struggle 
2:)romised  to  be  long,  and  the  result  uncertain. 

It  soon  became  apparent  to  those  who  loved  her  that  it 
was, 

"  The  little  rift  within  the  lute, 
That  by  and  by  should  make  its  music  mute 
And  slowly  widening,  silence  all  the  sound  I  " 

Prompted  by  maternal  affection,  she  applied  herself  to 
making  her  child's  wardrobe,  and,  as  opportunity  offered, 
resumed  her  labor  on  the  story  of  ]\Iary  Elmer. 

It  had  long  been  her  intention  to  write  something  in  a 
graver  style  than  anything  which  she  had  hitherto  offered 
to  the  public.  Much  as  she  excelled  in  the  comic  vein,  we 
think  it  was  not  chosen  to  gratify  her  own  taste  or  inclina- 
tion, for  in  one  of  her  letters  written  from  Elmira,  she 
says,  "  I  am  heartily  sick  of  Bedotting  and  Maguiring, 
and  only  wish  I  could  be  as  well  paid  for  more  sensible 
matter."  She  would  no  doubt  have  found  more  pleasure  in 
the  exercise  of  a  higher  and  purer  taste,  but  lier  inclina- 
tion was  overruled  by  circumstances.  The  intense  pathos 
of  Mary  Ehner  may  have  been  heightened  by  the  fact  that 
it  was  written  during  a  period  of  physical  suffering,  but  it 
proves  that  its  author  possessed  as  great  power  over  the 
patlietic  as  the  risible  emotions  of  the  reader,  and  like  the 
"immortal  bard  "when  she  chose  to'*  come  no  more  to 
make  you  laugh,"  possessed  equal  ability  to  present  "  such 
solemn  scenes  as  cause  the  eye  to  How." 

Like  many  other  humorists,  her  natural  tendency  was 
more  to  melancholy  than  to  mirth,  and  wc  learn  from  one 


BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION.  33 

who  loved  her,  that  her  pen  which  was  employed  so  suc- 
cessfully for  the  amusement  of  others,  was  often  guided 
by  an  eye  dim  with  unshed  tears. 

Although,  like  Hood,  she  had  found  the  public  ear 
more  open  to  melodies  than  to  maladies,  with  him  she  felt 
that  '*  a  life  "of  mere  laughter  is  like  music  without  its 
bass,  or  a  picture  of  vague  unmitigated  light,  while  an 
occasional  melancholy  is  like  those  rich  old  glooms  of 
Rembrandt." 

The  pathos  of  Mary  Elmer  was  as  easy  to  her  pen  as 
the  humor  of  Spriggins  or  Bedott ;  for  her  gifts  were  like 
song  to  the  bird,  or  perfume  to  the  flower;  and  thus,  the 
success  of  her  wTitings  does  not  depend  upon  her  energy, 
for  she  was  easily  discouraged,  and  always  self-distrusting, 
while  her  humility  kept  her  always  from  self-assertion, 
and  often  from  effort.  Thus  her  life  became  one  of  obser- 
vation, rather  than  of  action ;  and  to  the  last  her  literary 
productions  were  cast  doubtingly  upon  the  uncertain 
stream  of  public  favor. 

She  never  showed  any  undue  devotion  to  the  material 
and  practical,  and  seemed  strangely  unconscious  of  the 
possession  of  those  talents,  which,  if  united  with  greater 
worldly  wisdom,  might  earlier  have  brought  her  the 
grateful  reward  of  fame,  as  well  as  those  more  tang- 
ible returns  which  the  world  counts  as  the  criterion  of 
success. 

That  remarkable  sagacity  with  which  she  appreciated 
the  springs  of  human  passion,  and  which  with  such  rare 
perspicuity  her  writings  display,  she  seldom  brought  into 
working  use,  for  she  was  credulous  and  unsuspecting  in  a 
marked  degree. 

The  story  of  Mary  Elmer,  on  which  she  bestowed  her 


34:  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION. 

last  lltemry  labor,  was  left  unfinished.  The  last  letter  she 
ever  penned  was  one  which  accompanied  some  chapters 
of  her  manuscript  to  her  publisher,  and  was  written  only 
three  weeks  before  her  death.  From  it  we  make  an  ex- 
tract :  — 

*'I  never  sent  off  a  manuscript  so  unsightly  as  this. 
But  I  can  do  no  better.  You  will  see  that  it  bears  evi- 
dence to  the  trembling  hand  and  miserable  body  sustained 
by  opiates.  Oh,  the  horrid  stuff!  There  would  never  be 
any  danger  of  my  becoming  an  opium-eater  from  choice. 
I  hope  the  compositor  will  not  be  utterly  confounded.  I 
send  three  chapters,  and  the  rest  will  be  forthcoming  as 
soon  as  circumstances  will  permit.  I  have  been  very  de- 
sirous to  finish  this  story,  probably  the  last  I  shall  write. 
And  I  trust  there  will  be  nothing  in  it  '  which,  dying,  I 

should  wish    to    blot.'     Perhaps  Mr. may  think  the 

style  too  plain  and  homely.  I  have  been  so  anxious  to 
avoid  the  grandiloquent  style  of  many  of  our  female  story 
writei-s,  that  I  may  have  gone  too  far  the  other  way.  I 
have  become  so  entirely  disgusted  with  that  sort  of  com- 
position applied  to  the  commonest  and  most  trifling  sub- 
jects, as  w^ell  as  to  those  more  important,  that  I  never 
have  patience  to  get  through  an  article  of  that  descrip- 
tion." 

Her  manuscript  has  been  carefully  preserved  by  jNlr. 
Whitcher,  and  it  was  not  until  after  repeated  efforts  to  qq\ 
it  completed  by  others  had  fiiiled,  that  the  present  writer 
attempted  the  task  of  "ending,"  not  to  say  *' finishing" 
it,  not  unconscious  of  the  presumption  with  which  the  act 
miglit  be  regarded  by  many,  for  one  without  literary  ex- 
perience, or  even  literary  ambition,  to  attempt  to  add  to 
anything  a  genius  like  hers  had  left  incomplete,  yet  anx- 


BIOGRArmCAL  INTRODUCTION.  35 

ious  to  give  to  usefulness  a  little  tale  which  seemed  quite 
too  good  to  be  lost. 

After  sending  away  her  last  letter,  her  health  began  to 
fail  more  rapidly,  and  her  time  was  devoted  to  more  im- 
mediate preparation  for  death. 

Jeremy  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  Dying  was  now  her 
constant  companion,  as  it  had  been  a  solace  and  comfort 
in  hours  of  health. 

She  received  with  humility  the  holy  communion,  and  all 
the  consolations  which  the  Church  of  England  has  in  store 
for  her  departing  children.     ' 

The  sun  which  rose  on  the  fifth  anniversary  of  her 
bridal  day,  shed  its  last  rays  into  the  room  where  she  lay 
clothed  in  the  bridal  robes  of  death.  With  the  solemn  ser- 
vice of  the  Church  she  had  so  much  loved,  they  committed 
her  body  to  the  dust. 

In  the  rural  grave-yard  of  her  native  village,  in  the 
little  enclosure  where  lie  those  to  whom  she  was  connected 
by  family  ties,  and  beside  the  sister  for  whose  companion- 
ship she  had  so  long  and  fondly  yearned,  she  rests.  And 
who  can  say  but  in  *'  those  heavenly  habitations  where 
the  souls  of  them  that  sleep  in  the  Lord  Jesus  enjoy  per- 
petual felicity,"  their  spirits  are  united  in  nearer  and  purer 
ties,  as  in  communion  with  the  saints  beneath  the  altar, 
they  join  in  the  solemn  anthem,  «*  How  long,  O  Lord,"  as 
in  earnest  hope  they  wait  the  final  benediction. 

In  accordance  with  her  own  humble  wishes,  her  name 
and  age  on  a  little  tablet  is  all  that  marks  her  resting- 
place.  But  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved  her  as  a 
friend,  and  admired  her  as  an  author,  is  written  a  brighter 
and  more  enduring  word  of  her  virtues  than  can  be  traced 
by  the  pen  of  the  biographer,  or  graven  in  the  eloquence 
of  sculptured  marble.  M*  L.  W. 


WIDOW   SPRIGGINS. 


WIDOW    SPRIGGINS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


♦«  They  called  me  blue-eyed  Mary, 
When  frinds  and  fortin  smiled, 
But  oh  1  how  fortius  vary, 

I  now  am  sorrer's  child !  "  Old  Song. 


WAS  born  in  Podunk,  a  charmin'  and  sequesterated 
villidge  on  the  banks  of  the  morantic  and  meander- 
in'  Mohawk.  My  father's  name  was  Nathan  Rug- 
gles  ;  he  was  an  emigranter  from  Vermount,  and 
he  married  a  Dutch  young  woman  by  the  name  of  Vine 
Hoo-obome,  a  natyve  of  Podunk.  I  was  the  oldest  of  ten 
childern,  five  boys  and  five  gearls.  The  boys  was  Nadab 
and  Abihu,  (twins,)  Cornelus,  Bemas,  and  Gad.  The 
gearls  was  Permilly,  (that's  me,)  Mirtilly,  Ketury,  (that's 
a  Dutch  name,)  Axy,  and  Vine.  But  I  was  the  flower  of 
the  family.  Pve  heern  my  mother  tell  that  I  was  a  won- 
derful cretur  from  the  time  I  was  knee  high  to  a  hop-toad. 
Afore  I  was  10  year  old  I  knowd  eny  most  all  the  primmer, 
and  I  could  say  them  are  vasses  in't  clean  from  "  In 
Adam's  fall,"  to  "  Zaccheus  he  did  climb  the  tree,''  without 
missin'  a  word.  And  when  I  want  but  fourteen  I  knowd 
by  heart,  all  that  are  gret  long  piece  of  poitry  that  John 
Rogers  writ  jest  afore  he  was  burnt  to  a  stake. 

(39) 


40  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

When  I  was  about  sixteen  our  folks  sent  me  to  Miss 
Van  Dusen's  boardino^-scbool  to  Scaticoke.  She  was  a 
cousin  of  my  mother,  and  whilst  I  was  there  besides  lair- 
nin'  all  monner  of  'complishments  I  took  a  mazin'  notion  to 
readin'  and  red  Rosabelly,  and  Alviry,  and  the  Childern  of 
the  Abby  all  through.  Well,  arter  stay  in'  tliere  three 
months  I  went  hum,  and  at  my  departer  Miss  Van  Dusen 
give  me  the  Childern  of  the  Abby,  'cause  'twas  my  favoryte 
book  and  I  was  her  favoryte  puj^pil,  —  tellin'  on  me  to 
read  it  cerfully  and  'twould  improve  my  taste  and  under- 
standin'  amazin'ly. 

Well,  I  returned  to  the  poternal  niif,  and  I  tell  ye  I  was 
a  touch  above  the  vulgar,  but  I'd  or'to  tell  ye  how  I 
looked.  My  hair  was  of  that  lovely  hue  that  folks  calls  red 
and  novils  calls  auburn.  Sometimes  I  suffered  it  to  flow 
cerlessly  over  my  alagaster  sholders,  and  sometimes  I  con- 
fined It  on  the  tip  top  of  my  head  with  a  quill.  My  face 
was  considerated  imminently  honsome.  My  figger  was  on- 
common  greaceful,  and  I  had  a  gret  deal  of  dignitude. 
But  more  'n  all  that,  I  writ  poitry  of  the  first  order,  and 
was  called  the  biggest  genyus  in  Podunk.  I  knowd  I  was 
a  touch  above  the  vulgar,  as  I  said  afore,  and  so  I  kept 
myself  putty  scerce.  I  didn't  let  nun  of  the  fellers  come 
within  gunshot  of  me  tho'  there  want  one  there  but  what 
would  a  jumped  sky  high  to  git  me,  but  I  didn't  incurridge 
'em,  for  I  was  detairmincd  I  wouldn't  give  my  afl^ections  to 
nobody  that  didn't  look  like  Lord  Mortimer,  him  that  tlie 
Childern  of  the  Abby  tells  about,  and  nun  of  the  young 
men  in  Podunk  want  no  touch  to  him,  for  the  biggest  part 
on  em  was  amazin'  fleshy  and  he  want.  Well,  a  number 
on  'cm  arter  a  spell  plukt  up  curridge  to  make  up  to  me. 
There  was  Bonypart  Bugglns,  a  risin'  farmer,  he  took  arter 


WID  0  W  SPRIG  GINS.  4 1 

me  consairnedly.  One  arternoon  I  was  a  sittin'  under  a 
tree  in  the  orchard  readin'  in  the  Childern  of  the  Abby, 
and  1  tho't  I  heern  a  noise,  so  I  lookt  up,  and  lo  and  be- 
hold 'twas  Bony  part  leanin'  agin  a  stump. 

<'  Your  sarvent,"  says  he.  I  gin  him  an  all-to-pieces 
stiiF  bow,  and  went  on  continuyin'  readin',  —  at  last  says 
he,  — 

"  Miss  Euojdes." 

CO 

*'Hold  yer  tongue,"  says  I. 

**  Ye  needn't  be  so  ferce,"  says  he. 

Then  1  riz  right  up  and  says  I,  "  What  do  ye  mean  by 
contrudin'  yer  pesky  presence  on  ray  solitary  medifications, 
hay  ?  If  'twant  for  disgracin'  this  ere  book  I'd  heave  it  at 
yer  head."  So  he  cleared  out  considerble  skeart  and  never 
bothered  me  no  more. 

And  there  was  another  young  man  in  our  town  by  the 
name  of  Yokop  Van  Snorter,  a  marchant,  that  lived  nigh 
by,  makin'  money  and  doin'  well.  There  want  a  gearl  in 
Podunk  but  what  would  a  had  him  ony  me,  and  I  was  the 
ony  one  he  took  a  notion  tew.  But  he  was  as  fat  as  a 
boss,  and  more  'n  all  that  he  had  such  a  name  'twas  enuf 
to  dizgust  me.  VYell,  he  was  kinder  timersome  and 
darsent  speak  to  me,  so  he  writ  me  a  "  billydux,"  (that 
are's  the  French  for  loveletter,)  I  can't  remember  edjackly 
how  'twas  supprest,  ony  I  know  he  writ  how't  he  loved  me 
better'n  sour  crout  or  flitters,  or  anything  on  airth,  and 
wanted  me  to  marry  him  right  off.  Now  in  all  the  novils 
I'd  read,  nun  of  the  young  men  didn't  make  a  supposition 
in  sich  a  stile,  so  I  jist  took  it  and  writ  on  t'other  side 
o'nt,  — 

*  *  You  gret  unheerd  of  Dutch  lubber  ;  ye  don't  know  how 
to  tell  a  young  woman  the  state  of  yer  feeiins,  and  if  ye  did 


4  2  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

I  wouldn't  have  ye  nor  touch  to,  so  ye  may  glv  up  yer  en- 
devers."     I  sent  the  letter  over  by  my  little  brother  Gad, 
and  tliat  evenin'  we  were  all  a  sittin'  round  the  kitchin  fire, 
mother  a  dippin'  candles,  Nadab  and  Abihu  twistin'  nut- 
cakes,  and  Mirtilly  a  fry  in'  on  'em,  Bemas  and  Ketury  knit- 
tin',  (my  mother  eddicatcd  all  her  childern  jest  alike.      She 
didn't  aprove  of  havin'  the  boys  do  all  the  out-door  work 
and  the  gearls  all  the  housork,  so  in  the  arternoon   the 
gearls   went  out  and  helpt  the  boys  chop  wood  and  hoe 
taturs,  &c.,  and  in  the  evenin'  the  boys  cum  in  and  helpt 
the  gearls  do  up  the  chores,)  but  I  was  a  readin,  I  never 
had  nothin'  to  do  with  k^tchinary  consairns,  for  I  reckoned 
and  mother  reckoned  tew,  that  a  young  woman  that  had 
been  to  boardin'-school  a^d  lairnt  phizziology,  and  trigge- 
ology,    and    astreology,    besides   painthi'    and    monners, 
shouldn't  or'to  do  no  housork,  and  I  never  read  in  no  novil 
of  a  herowine  that  washed  dishes  and  fried  nutcakes,   and 
so  forth.      Amandy  Malviny  Fitzalen  didn't  do't,  and  I 
was  detairmlned  I  wouldn't  do't,  tho'  fixther  used  to  jaw  me 
about  it,  for  he  never  had  no  sense  of  properiety.     But  I 
didn't  think  'twas  any  disparagation  to  resist  motlier  in  sup- 
perintendin' the  childern,  for  I  reckoned  'twas  quite  interest- 
in'  to  teach  their  young  ideas  how  to  fire,  as  Poke  says, 
and  the  evenin'  I  speak  on  I'd  jest  ben  puttin'  Cornelus  and 
Gad,  and  Axy  and  Vine,  to  bed  in  the  trundle-bed,  and 
was  beseated  readin'  in  Cecely,  (a  novil  belong! n'  to  a  na- 
ber  of  ourn,)  when  father  came  in  and  says  he  to  me,  says 
he,  *'  Milly,"  —  says  I,  *'  Sir  !  "     "  Come  up  chomber," 
says  he,  *'  I  want  to  see  ye  a  minnit."     So  I  shot  up  my 
interestin  novil  with  a  sythe    and    follered  my  force  and 
grumpy  lookin'  pay  rent.     When  we  got  up  chomber  he 
shot    the  door  and  says  he,   "Milly,"  —  says  I,   "Sir," 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  43 

saj^s  he,  *'  Yer  a  darn  fool."  **  Be,  hay,"  says  I,  **  what 
for?"  "Why,"  says  he,  '*  I've  been  over  to  Van 
Snorter's  store,  and  he  told  me  all  about  that  are  mean 
dirty  trick  you've  ben  a  sarvin'  him,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
If  you'd  a  writ  him  a  decent  letter  tellin'  on  him  you 
couldn't  marry  him,  it  wouldn't  a  ben  so  bad  ;  but  even 
then  you'd  a  ben  a  fool,  for  you'll  never  git  sich  another 
chance,  —  but  to  send  him  sich  a  sassy,  crusty  mess  of 
stuff;  why  you'd  or'to  be  flogged  for't.  I  tell'd  him  if  I 
was  him  I  never'd  speak  to  ye  agin,  —  but  he  says  he 
takes  arter  ye  yit,  and  wants  me  to  perswade  ye  to  have 
him,  and  I  tell  ye  ye'd  better  do't." 

**What!"  exclamigated  I,  "me  have  York  Van 
Snorter?  why,  he  don't  look  no^^nore  like  Lord  Mortimer 
than  a  back-log  does  !  You  may  manure  me  in  the  most 
gloomiest  dunjin  in  Podunk,  —  you  may  deny  me  the  en- 
fuence  of  the  survivin'  atmosphere, — you  may  deprive  me 
of  every  gratication  in  life,  but  you  will  never  conduce  me 
to  giv  my  willin'  consent  except  agin  my  inclination,  to  be 
led  to  the  Hymonian  alter  by  a  bein'  I  can't  bestow  my 
hull  affections  on,  so  I  boseech  on  ye  not  to  speak  of  him 


5? 


'  AVell,    I    don't    know   now,"    says   father    says    he, 

whether  ye  mean  ye'll  have  him  or  not." 

"No,  never!"  exclamigated  I,  "I  never  can  be 
hissen  ! " 

"You  aint  half-witted,"  says  he,  "them  are  plaguy 
novils  you've  been  a  diggin'  at's  used  up  what  little  sense 
ye  had  afore,  —  yer  a  standin'  in  yer  own  light,  and  I'll 
let  ye  know  I  aint  a  guayne  to  have  ye  cut  up  any  more  of 
yer  capers." 

So  sayin'  he  w^ent  off  and  I  begun  tearin'  my  hair  and  la- 


44  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

mentin'  my  sorrers  the  wost  way.     Putty  soon  Mirtilly  and 
Ketury  heern  me,  and  they  come  up. 

**  Massy  sakes  !  "  says  Mirtilly,  '*  what's  to  pay  ?  " 

*'  Gracious  !  "  says  Ketury,  *'  what  under  the  sun  ails 
ye?" 

**  What  ails  me?"  says  I.  "  Ax  the  ragin'  oshun  when 
its  flambero-astcd  billers  rolls  hisfh  what  ails  it?  Ax  the 
stormy  sky  when  kivered  with  thunderin'  clouds  what  ails 
it?  but  ax  not  me  what  ails  me,  —  my  woes  is  incompre- 
hensible and  uncombounded.  I  am  surrounded  on  all  sides 
with  miseries,  and  attackted  on  every  hand  by  distractions. 
A  cruel  and  torranical  father  thretens  me  witli  his  ever- 
lastin'  vengcnce  if  I  don't  marry  an  imadmyrable  Dutch 
josey  !  Oh  happy  Mirtilly  !  ,  Oh  unsofisticated  Ketury  ! 
ye  hant  no  notion  of  the  sorrers  of  the  most  onfortinate  of 
creturs  ! " 

"  How  much  she  talks  like  a  book,"  says  Ketury. 

*' How  much  she  talks  like  a  fool,"  says  Mirtilly,  and 
off  she  went  to  bed.  But  Ketury  was  more  feelin',  and 
she  staid  a  spell  and  tried  to  comfort  me. 

**But,"  says  I,  "leave  me,  Oh  leave  me  alone  in  my 
desperation,  and  go  and  seek  *  tired  natur's  sweet  restorer.' " 
So- Ketury  went  out  and  putty  soon  she  cum  back  and 
brung  a  gret  hunk  of  candy  to  riie. 

"  Offer  me  no  candy,"  jackleated  I. 

Says  she,  **  Why  you  tell'd  me  to  git  ye  something  sweet 
to  the  store,  and  when  I  tell'd  Van  Snorter  how't  it  was 
for  you  he  wouldn't  take  no  pay." 

'*  Go  back,"  says  I,  *«  misunderstandin'  child,  and  throw 
it  at  his  head."  So  she  went,  and  when  she  cum  into  the 
store  she  huv  it  as  hard  as  ever  she  could  right  into  Van 
Snorter's  face,  and  made  his  nose  bleed.     Onfortinately, 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  45 

father  he  was  in  there,  tho'  she  didn't  see  him,  and  when 
she  hiav  the  candy  he  jumped  up  and  grabbed  her  afore  she 
had  time  to  get  away,  cryin'  out  *'  What  do  ye  mean,  ye 
little  wretch?  "  Says  she,  *'  Permilly  tell'd  me  to  do  it." 
So  father  he  cum  right  strait  home  and  into  the  chomber 
with  a  cowhide  in  his  fist,  an(J  says  he,  *<  You'll  sup  sorrer, 
I  tell  ye,  for  that  are  caper  of  yourn."  So  sayin'  he  cum 
at  me,  but  I  jumped  over  the  bed,  and  afore  he  could  hit 
me,  I  got  outside  the  door,  and  strapt  it  so  's  he  couldn't 
git  out, ' — then  I  ketcht  my  bunnit  and  shawl,  stuffed  the 
Childern  of  the  Abby  in  my  pocket,  went  to  father's  chist 
and  hookt  his  leather  money  puss,  and  was  out  of  the  house 
in  a  minnit.  I  see  Ketury  a  cryin'  by  the  gate,  and  says 
I,  "  Go  in  and  tell  mother  that  I've  absquandered  to  the 
world's  eend,  and  tell  her  not  to  have  father  let  out  in  3 
hours,  if  she  vallys  my  everlastin'  peace  of  mind."  So  say- 
in'  I  huv  my  arms  round  Ketury  and  giv  a  partin'  kiss  and 
then  *' like  a  fair  lily  surcharged  with  tears,"*  I  run 
acrost  the  meadys  and  fields  till  I  cum  to  a  tavern  about 
five  miles  from  Podunk.  I  axed  'em  if  I  mut  lodge  tliere, 
and  they  said  I  mought,  and  says  I  to  the  lonlady,  "  Good 
dame,  give  me  a  department  alone  by  myself,  for  I  desire 
to  ponderate,  unseen  by  vulger  eyes,  on  the  heft  of  misft)r- 
tins  that  oppresses  me." 

*'  What  is't  ye  want?"  says  the  ignorant  cretur. 

Says  I,  **  Giv  me  a  room  alone,  and  fetch  me  a  candle, 
and  sum  ink,  and  sum  paper,  and  a  pen. 

So  she  did,  and  I  couldn't  but  admire  to  think  how  much 
my  sittyation  was  like  Amandy's  when  she  was  so  druv, 
and  arter  collectin'  my  ideas,  I  writ  the  follerin  vasses.  I 
reckon  their  considerble  touchin'. 

*  Childern  of  the  Abby. 


46  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

Dear  me  I  no  cretur  ever  had 

So  many  dretful  strugi^les  — 
No  gearl  was  ever  half  so  sad, 

As  poor  rermilly  Ruggles. 

The  cruel  Jlr.  Haggles  druv 

Away  his  charmin'  dorter, 
Jest  because  she  couldn't  love 

The  pesky  York  Van  Snorter. 

I  won't  commit  self-suicide, 

Because  it's  so  unhuman ; 
But  oh  !  I  wish  I  had  a  died 

Afore  I  was  a  woman. 

Arter  I'd  writ  this  poim,  thinks  me,  — well,  what's  to  be 
did  now?  Arter  considerin' a  spell,  I  concludid  to  take 
the  stage  in  the  mornin'  and  perceed  to  the  town  of  Hig- 
gins  Patent,  where  my  fjither  had  a  sister  livin',  married 
to  a  Mr.  Jorrocks,  a  forehanded  farmer.  He  was  dretful 
poor  when  he  fust  took  arter  aunt  Huldy,  and  Ijer  payrents 
wouldn't  consent  to  her  havin'  on  him,  so  they  got  married 
unbeknown  to  nobody  but  the^justice  and  sot  right  off  for 
Higgins  Patent.  For  a  spell  grandfer  Ruggles  wouldn't 
speak  to  her,  but  when  uncle  Jonah  begun  to  be  well  to  do 
they  made  all  up,  and  went  a  visitin'  to  see  each  other. 
So  in  the  mornin'  I  paid  the  damage,  got  into  the  stage 
and  travilled  tew  days  and  tew  nights  till  I  arrove  to  Hig- 
gins Patent.  "When  we  drove  up  to  aunt  Jorrocks's  door, 
the  driver  he  hulloed  and  out  run  uncle  Jonah  rubbin'  his 
eyes,  for  'twant  but  4  o'clock  in  the  mornin'.  Aunt  she 
stuck  her  head  out  of  the  winder  to  see  who'd  come,  and 
when  slie  rccognatcd  me  she  was  'maziii'  glad,  for  Inever'd 
ben  tlicre  afore,  and  I  was  a  gret  favoryte  of  hern.  But 
tliey  was  dretful  astoundered  when  they  see  I  liadn't  no 
baiTiridire,  and  when  we  went  in  the  house  I  tell'd  'em  the 
hull  description  of  my  leavin'  hum  from  beginnin'  to  eend. 


WIDOW  SPRIGGINS.  47 

Aunt  Huldy  said  I'd  did  right,  and  uncle  Jonah  said  he 
hoped  'twas  all  for  the  best.  "  And  now,  my  dear  rel- 
atyves,"  says  I,  "  I  want  to* keep  in  a  retired  state  of  con- 
dition, and  don't  want  no  livin'  cretur  but  you  tew  to 
know  I'm  here  till  I  can  send  hum  and  git  my  clus,'*  (for 
I  hadn't  nothin'  but  the  gownd  I  had  on  with  me,  and  that 
was  a  yeller  callcer  every  day  one.) 

But  I  guess  I've  writ  enuf  for  a  chapter.  In  my  next 
I'll  conform  ye  what  happened  to  me  whilst  I  was  a  resider 
at  Higgins  Patent. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  And  while  that  charmin'  voice  I  hear, 
AndAvhilst  them  lovely  eyes  I  see  — 
Angelic  maid,  forever  dear 
To  my  fond  bussom  shalt  thou  be." 


Unbeknown. 


RTER  breckfust  (I  didn't  eat  much  —  only  a  few 
slapjacks  —  Amandy  couldent  eat  much  when  she 
was  in  distress,  no  more  couldn't  I),  arter  breck- 
fust I  sot  down  and  WTit  the  follerin'  pistle  to  my 
father : 

''  Cruil  hut  reverated  fallier  —  Your  onfortinate  dorter 
now  takes  her  pen  in  hand  to  conform  you  that  she  is  to 
Uncle  Jorrocks's,  obleejed  by  your  uncumparelled  cruil  ty 
to  elope  from  thti  hum  of  her  youthood  and  seek  a  sylum  in 
a  distant  section  of  region.  The  only  thing  that  supports 
me  in  my  trials  is  the  consolin'  circumflexion  that  I  have 


48  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

did  right  in  refusin'  to  unite  my  fute  to  a  cretur  I  didn't 
belove  and  adore.  As  I  intend  to  make  Higgins  Patent 
my  natyve  place  for  a  spell,  ye  needn't  suspect  to  see  me 
to  Podunk  very  soon.  And  I  desire  you  to  send  me  some 
money  ;  and  if  you  ain't  as  tight  as  the  bark  to  a  tree, 
you'll  send  me  more'n  there  was  in  your  old  puss  when  I 
took  it.  It  didn't  much  more'n  pay  the  travellin'  damage, 
and  I  want  sum  more  for  I  desire  to  add  some  additions  to 
my  library.  Tell  my  darlin'  mother  to  put  up  all  my 
wardrobes  (clus),  in  Nadab's  gret  chist,  and  send  it  to 
me  immejuntly ;  and  arter  you've  did  all  I  tell  ye,  ye 
needn't  giv  yerself  any  furder  oneasiness  consairnin'  yer 
afflicted  and  mawl-treated  but  still  affectionate  and  forgivin* 
dorter,  Permilly." 

About  a  week  arter  this,  (I  hadn't  got  no  letter  from 
hum  yit,  mind  ye)  I  was  a  settin'  in  my  room  where  no- 
body couldent  see  me,  and  nobody  only  uncle  and  aunt 
didn't  know  I  was  there.  Well,  I  was  a  settin'  by  the 
winder  readin'  in  ''  Thaddcus  of  Warsaw,"  quite  an  inter- 
estin'  novll  of  Aunt  Huldy's,  when  I  heern  a  knock  to  the 
front  door,  so  I  run  into  the  square  room  and  peeked  thro' 
the  curtin  to  see  who  'twas,  (for  uncle  and  aunt  had  rid 
over  to  the  town  of  Utica  to  sell  butter  and  eggs  and  git 
sum  things),  so  I  peeked  thro'  the  curtin  and  who  sho'd  I 
see  standin'  there  but  the  ginteelest,  tallest,  elegantest 
young  man  ever  I  see.  So  I  cut  into  my  compartment  and 
stuck  my  head  all  full  of  mornin'  glories  that  growed  by 
my  winder,  and  then  huv  my  white  leno  vail  kerlessly  over 
my  shoulders,  and  you  never  see  an  intcrcstlncr  looking 
beein  than  I  was  that  minnit ;  then  I  went  and  opened  the 
door.     The   minnit  the  young  man  see  me  he  throwd  up 


r-'£\IFl£LDS''- 


Miss  Sprig-i^'ins,  having:  read  a  sensation  novel,  grows  hysterical, 
and  tears  lier  hair  after  the  manner  of  lirst-class  heroines. — 
See  page  44. 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  49 

Ills  arms  with  admiration,  and  says  he,  *'  Ondoubtedly  the 
inchantin'  cretur  I  see  is  Miss  Permilly  Ruggles."  *'  Jest 
so,  that's  my  name,"  reiterated  I.  **  Won't  ye  come  in?  " 
So  in  he  walked,  and  I  sot  a  cheer  for  him  and  he  telld  me 
that  he'd  ben  a  travellin'  for  his  hehh  and  stopt  a  spell  in 
Podunk,  and  bein  acquainted  with  the  postmaster  there, 
(Mr.  Smith)  he'd  heern  the  hull  of  my  history  from  him, 
and  he  said  that  the  account  Mr.  Smith  had  giv  him  of  my 
cliaracter  and  appearance,  misfortins  and  pairsecutlons,  had 
made  him  very  much  consairned  and  Interested  about  me. 
This  surprised  me  amazinly,  fo^I  knowd  Mr.  Smith  want 
no  frind  of  mine  when  I  was  in  Podunk  —  use  to  laff  about 
me,  and  once  I  heerd  he  said  I  was  a  born  fool.  Well, 
the  young  man  went  on  to  say  how't  bein'  in  the  post- 
office  the  day  he  left  Podunk,  my  father  cum  in  with  a 
letter  he  was  a  guayne  to  put  in  the  mail  to  me,  and  so  he 
telld  father  how't  he  was  a  guayne  right  thro'  Higgins 
Patent  to  git  hum,  and  Jie'd  carry  the  letter  free-gratis. 
*'  So,"  says  the  young  man,  "  I  took  the  letter  and  here 
It  Is,  and  I  don't  know  whether  to  bless  or  curse  the  minnit 
I  agreed  to  be  the  bearer  on't,  as  it  has  introduced  me  into 
the  presence  of  an  angelic  cretur  that  mabby'll  disdain  me, 
and  so  be  my  ruination."  I  blushed  '«  celestrial  rosy  red," 
and  took  the  letter.  «' Oh,"  continuyed  the  charmin' 
stranger,  layin'  his  hand  on  his  heart,  *'  perhaps  you'll  be 
surprised  when  I  tell  you  that  the  fust  sight  of  you  has  en- 
tranced and  enraptured  my  sperit.  You  will  be  amazed  to 
hear  me  confess  that  I,  who,  an  hour  ago,  had  never  be- 
held you,  am  now  your  devoted  admirer  and  humble 
suitor."  So  sayin',  he  fell  down  on  his  knees  before  me 
and  grabbed  hold  of  my  hand. 

*' You're  mistaken,  young  man,"  says  I,   **in  thinkin' 
5 


50  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

I'd  be  astonished  to  see  ye  so  besmitten  at  fust  sight.  I've 
read  of  sich  things  time  and  agin,  but  as  you're  a  stranger 
to  me  it  would  be  onprudent  in  me  to  purmit  ye  to  pay 
your  devours  to  me.  Howsomever,  I  won't  disencourage 
ye  entirely,  for  your  mouner  of  declarin'  the  state  of  yer 
feelin's  has  possessed  me  considerable  in  yer  favor,  and  I'm 
purty  sartin  from  your  appearance  you  ain't  no  country 
bushwhacker  ;  so  I  beseech  on  ye  to  rise." 

<' Fairest  of  created  creturs,"  says  he,  "I  cannot  rise 
till  you  promise  to  reserve  a  leetle  corner  in  your  heart  for 
the  despairin'  Philander." 

Thinks  me,  what  a  beautiful  name  he's  got.  ''  Git  up, 
Philander,"  exclamigated  I,  '*  the  promise  is  yourn."  So 
he  riz,  and  then  says  he,  ''  Seraphic  gearl !  grant  me  one 
of  the  flowers  tjiat  decorate  your  head,  to  gaze  on  when 
alone."  So  I  gin  him  a  momin'  glory,  and  arter  kissin' 
my  lilly  hand  he  went  away  syin'.  As  he  was  steppin' 
out,  says  I,  ''  Philander,  be  you  sure  your  affection  won't 
never  prove  unconstant  ?  " 

Says  he,  '*  jest  as  sure  as  the  vast  furmament  of  sun, 
moon,  and  stars  moves  round  this  terrestrious  globe  I 
never  will  be  false."  So  I  shot  the  door  and  went  up 
chomber  to  look  out  of  the  winder  at  him  as  long  as  I 
could  see  him,  and  when  he  got  over  the  hill  t'other  side 
of  the  house  he  hov  away  the  posy  I  giv  him  and  he  begun 
to  lafF  as  if  he'd  go  off".  At  fust  I  was  surprised  to  see 
him  laflSn'  so  consairnedly  when  he  seemed  to  feel  so  bad 
at  leavin'  on  me.  So  I  watched  him  till  he  got  out  of 
sight,  and  he  kept  a  laffin',  and  every  little  while  lie'd  kick 
up  his  foot  as  if  he  was  tickled,  and  finally  I  concluded  he'd 
got  a  highstcric  fit  brung  on  by  his  overpowerin'  fcelins. 
Arter   he'd  made   his   disappearance  I  sot  down  to  read 


WIDOW  SPRTGGmS.  51 

father's  letter.     IVe  got  the  letter  yet,  and  this  ere's  the 
copy  on't. 

"Good  for  nothin^  Dorter  Milly  :  —  You're  mistaken 
if  you  think  I'll  giv  myself  any  oneasiness  about  ye.  I'm 
darn  glad  you've  cleared  out.  To  be  sure  I'd  a  ben  willin' 
to  keep  ye  to  hum  and  sho'd  a  did  well  by  ye  if  ye'd  a  had 
common  sense,  and  acted  as  ye'd  or'  to  ;  but  you  know 
you've  giv  me  more  trouble  for  the  last  seven  year  than 
you're  woth  —  you  haint  airnt  the  salt  to  your  porridge  — 
and  more'n  all  that  you'd  begun  to  spile  Ketur}^,  and  put 
yer  silly  notions  into  her  head.  I  tell  ye  agin,  I'm  glad  to 
be  rid  on  ye,  and  hope  ye'll  stay  to  Higgins  Patent  till  ye 
can  make  up  yer  mind  to  act  decent.  Neighbor  Cogsdill's 
Obadiah's  guayne  west  next  week,  and  hell  carry  ye  yer 
chist  of  duds.  I'll  send  ye  a  leetle  money,  though  you 
don't  desarve  a  cent  seein'  ye  hookt  my  puss^  and  it'll  be 
the  last  ye'll  git  from  me,  for  I'm  peskily  druv,  and  I've  got 
children  enufF  to  hum  to  support,  without  takin'  care  of 
them  that  runs  away.  Nor  I  aint  a  guayne  to  let  ye  be  a 
burden  on  yer  uncle  nyther  —  ye've  got  to  get  yer  own 
livin',  and  if  I  hear  of  yer  idlin'  away  yer  time  I'll  go  and 
fetch  ye  hum  and  put  ye  in  the  factry  to  work.  Yer 
mammy's  sick  —  your  g^n'  off  has  brung  her  clean  down, 
for  ugly  as  ye  be  ye'r  her  darlin,  but  sen  she  heerd  yer  to 
Higgins  Patent  she  feels  better  —  she  telld  me  to  tell  sister 
Jorrocks  to  take  good  care  on  ye,  and  I  hope  she  will  take 
care  on  ye  and  train  ye  up  and  make  ye  stand  round. 

Yer  daddy, 

Nadab  Ruggles." 

As  soon  as  Ide  red  this  onfeelin'  communication  I  begun 
bemoanin'  my  sorrers  consairnedly.  *'  O  !  wretched  me  !" 
jackleated  I,  '*  reduced  to  the  horrid  alternatyve  of  workin' 
for  a  livin'  here  or  guayne  into  a  factry  to  Podunk  1     I'm 


52  WIDOW  SPRIG oms. 

pairsecuted  and  miserable,  and  nothln*  pervents  my  spirits 
from  sinkin'  Into  intire  dispair  in  this  tiyin'  hour  except  the 
cheerin'  idee  of  my  greaceful  Philander."  I  must  a  looked 
very  interestin'  settin'  there  leanin'on  my  elbow,  syin'  and 
groanin',  my  eyes  swimmin'  in  tears,  and  father's  cruil 
pistle  lyin'  afore  me.  So  I  took  the  Childern  of  the  Abby 
to  comfert  myself  by  readin'  a  spell,  and  turned  to  the  5th 
chapter  cause  there's  a  discrlption  in  't  of  Lord  Mortimer 
that's  eny  most  ezackly  like  Philander,  I  remember  it  now 
word  for  word,  and  though  my  Amandy  Malviny  Spriggins 
has  got  the  book  now  there  aint  no  need  of  my  lookln'  In't, 
for  to  describe  Lord  Mortimer,  it  says, 

'«  He  was  now  in  the  glowin'  prime  of  life  —  his  person 
was  strlkinly  eloquant,  and  his  mouners  insinniatinly 
pleasin'  —  seducin'  sweetness  dwelt  in  his  smile,  and  his 
expressyve  eyes  could  sparkle  with  contelllgence,  or  beam 
with  sensibility,  and  the  harmony  of  his  voice  giv  a  charm 
to  tflfe^elquatlon  of  his  language  which  seldom  or  never 
failed  of  bein'  unresistible." 

Now  that's  jest  the  way  Philander  lookt.  He  was  very 
tall,  and  the  slimmest  creetur  I  ever  did  see ;  his  eyes  was 
as  black  as  two  coals,  and  good  grievous  !  how  expressyve  ; 
his  hair  was  black  tew  —  black  and  shiny  as  a  crow's  tail ; 
and  he  had  gret-big  whiskers  ;  on  the  hull  he  was  the  fac- 
blnatincst  beein  -I  ever  beheld.  Be  sure  Pd  a  ben  gladder 
if  he'd  a  happened  to  seen  me  and  fell  in  love  with  me 
without  knowin'  who  I  was  ;  'twould  a  ben  more  moran- 
tic.  Ye  know  Lord  jNIortimer  couldn't  find  out  for  ever 
so  long  who  Amandy  was,  and  he  was  eny  most  puzzled 
to  pieces.  But  then  if  he  did  know  all  about  me  I  didn't 
know  nothin  abt)ut  him,  who  he  was,  nor  where  he  cum 
from :  so  I  had  jest  as  much  unsairtinty  and  disquietude 


WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS.  5  3 

consalrnin  him  as  Lord  Mortimer  had  consairnin' Amandy, 
and  I  tell  ye  'twas  quite  interestin'  to  be  so  sittyated. 

Jest  then  Aunt  Huldy  and  Uncle  Jonah  cum  hum,  and 
I  run  down  stairs  and  showed  'em  father's  letter.  Arter 
they'd  red  it,  says  aunt  says  she, 

* '  The  consairned  old  hog  !  he's  mistaken  if  he  thinks 
I'm  a  guayne  to  let  ye  work  for  a  livin'  —  so  he  may  just 
hang  up  his  fiddle  —  and  ye  needn't  be  nun  consairned 
about-it ;  ye  shan't  work  nor  touch  tew." 

*'  Oh  my  darlin'  relatyve,"  says  I,  flingln'  my  arms 
round  her  and  kissin'  "on  her,  '*  yer  extrornary  kindness  in 
this  gret  and  sad  emairgency  will  never  be  blotterated  from 
my  rememberation.*  But  I  shan't  be  unindustrious,  for 
the  idee  of  bein'  manured  in  a  factry  as  father  thretens,  Is 
shockin'  to  me,  so  I'll  retire  to  my  compartment  and 
ponderate  for  a  spell,  and  then  cum  and  tell -ye  the  result 
of  my  circumflexions. " 

So  I  went  into  my  chomber  and  was  a  wonderin'  what 
Amandy  would  a  did  in  sich  a  dilamby  —  when  all  of  a 
sudding  I  happened  to  think  how't  when  she  had  so  much 
trouble  with  Lord  Mortimer's  father  she  went  off  to  Scot- 
land and  kept  school,  and  thinks  me,  I'll  keep  school  tew. 
So  I  went  into  the  kitching  and  sot  down  betooxt  uncle 
and  aunt,  and  I  says  to  'em,  says  I,  '*  Dear  frinds — re- 
duced as  I  be  to  the  dretful  alternatyve  of  doing  suthing 
for  a  llvin'  or  beein'  shot  up  In  a  horrid  dunjin,  I've  con- 
cluded what  occerpatlon  I'd  folly." 

*«  What  is't?"  says  they. 

I  continued,  ''  What  can  be  more  Interestin'  and  dlgni- 
fyin'  to  a  lovely  young  creetur  in  my  distressin'  circum- 
stances than  to  impart  construction  to  the  risin'  gineratlon 

*  ChUdern  of  the  Abby. 
5* 


54  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

and  devil-up  the  youthful  understandin'?  so  I'm  detalr- 
mined  to  do  it." 

**  Well,  I'll  be  darned  if  I  know  now  what  ye  mean," 
says  Uncle  Jonah. 

'*You  gret  coot  you,"  says  Aunt  Huldy  says  she  — 
*'  don't  ye  know  nothin'  ?  she  means  she'll  teach  a  siminary  ; 
and  now  that's  jest  what  Higgins  Patent  needs  to  make  it 
a  rael  ginteel  place." 

**  Yes,"  says  uncle,  *'  and  Permilly's  the  very  one  to 
do  it,  for  any  body  that  knows  so  many  big  words  as  she 
does,  ort-to  keep  a  siminary  —  and  I'll  see  about  it  right 
off." 

Arter  tea  I  retired  to  my  chomber.  'Twas  a  despot 
charmin'  moonshiny  evenin'  and  I  sot  down  by  the  winder, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  prospect,  and  the  stars,  and  the 
moonshine,  and  the  gentle  breezes  that  fanned  my  cheek, 
and  the  quiosity  of  natur,  and  the  idee  of  my  own  individ- 
dyal  sorrers  begun  to  operate  so  on  my  immaggination  that 
I  was  overpowered  with  mawlancholy,  and  so  I  sung 
"blue-eyed  Mary,"  (I  was  a  very  purty  singer  —  I  be 
yit,)  and  jest  as  I'd  got  done  that  afFectin'  line  where  it 
says, 

"  I  now  am  sorrer's  child," 

I  heern  somebody  heave  a  sythe ;  so  I  looked  out  of  the 
winder,  and  lo  and  behold  'twas  Philander  standin'  about 
three  feet  from  the  winder. 

'*  Enchantin'  beein  !  "  says  he,  ««  yer  music  has  eny  most 
annilliated  me  !  enrapurin'  tones  !  ravishin'  strains  !  " 

*'  Oh  Jemmeni  !  "  says  I,  '*  I'm  sure  I  shall  faint  away. 
I'm  so  flustered  seein'  you  here ;  if  you'd  only  gone  off 
without  syin'  or  sayiu'  nothin'  'twould  a  ben  jest  like  Lord 


WIDOW  SPRIGGINS.  '  55 

Mortimer's  seem'  Amandy  the  fust  time,  and  heariri'  of  her 
sbg  unbeknown  to  her." 

"  Oh  !  "  says  he,  "  if  his  surprise  and  deh'ght  had  a  ben 
as  i^ret  as  mine  he  couldent  a  went  off  without  some  kind 
of  exclamigatlon,  O  Miss  Ruggles,  I'm  a  lingerin'  round 
here  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  your  presence,  and  here's 
the  dear  flower  you  givnae  —  I've  gazed  on  It  ever  sen." 

'<  Massy  !  "  says  I,  "I  see  ye  heave  it  away  when  ye 
got  along  a-piece,*and  I  should  like  to  know  what  made 
ye  kick  up  and  laff  so.  I  reckoned  ye'd  got  the  high- 
s^terlcs." 

'*  Not  so,"  says  he,  **  'twas  a  conniption-fit  —  I'm  sub- 
ject to  'em  arter  beein'  overcome  as  I  was  when  I  fust  see 
you  —  when  I  recovered  I  returne'd  and  pickt  up  this 
flower." 

Says  I,  **  It  looks  as  fresh  as  if  you'd  jest  pickt  It  off  this 
ere  vine." 

**  I've  kept  it  fresh,"  says  he,  **  with  my  tears  while  it 
was  stickin'  in  the  buttonhole  nighest  my  heart." 

"I  entreat  you  to  depart  and  leave  me,"  says  I; 
Amandy  used  to  very  often  send  Lord  Mortimer  off. 

"  Sweetest  of  maidens  !  "  says  Philander  says  he,  *'  I 
obey  your  high  bequest."  So  sayin'  he  vanished  and  dis- 
appeared, and  I  took  my  pencil  and  paper  and  writ  the 
follerin'  '*  stanzys  by  moonlight." 

lu  ray  distractin'  sittyation, 

Obleejed  from  hum  to  wander, 
I  han't  but  jest  one  consolation, 

And  that's  my  dear  Philander. 

I  never  saw  so  sweet  a  swain, 

So  faithful  and  so  tender  — 
So  full  of  sythes,  and  groans,  and  pain. 

As  my  own  dear  Philander. 


56  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

And  I'm  detairrnined  while  1  live, 

Though  father  tries  to  hender  — 
My  heart  and  hand  to  nun  I'll  give 

But  jest  my  dear  Philander. 

If  mother  cried  and  father  swore, 

And  other  folks  should  slander  ; 
If  even  the  Dragon  stood  in  the  door 

I'd  stick  to  my  Philander. 

Ain't  that  touchin'  ?     Arter  I'd  writ  it  I  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  III. 

As  I  walked  out  one  evening  fair. 
For  to  view  the  fields  and  take  the  air, 
I  heerd  a  damsel  syin'  say, 
*  The  youth  I  love  is  a  guayne  away.' " 

Michigan  Minstrel. 


EXT  mornin' whilst  we  was  eatin'  breckfnst,  Uncle 
Jonah  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  "  Permllly." 
Says  I  "hay?" 

Says  he,  *'  I  went  all  round  last  night  a  glttln' 
scholars  for  you  and  everybody  was  astonished  when  I 
tell'd  'em  about  ye,  for  nobody  didn't  know  you  was  here, 
and  Missis  Peabody,  and  Missis  Dickens,  and  Missis  Jones, 
and  Missis  Doty,  and  Missis  Higgins,  (if  she  gits  done 
making  soap  In  time)  and  their  hut^bands,  is  a  coming  here 
this  arternoon  to  see  ye." 

**  Oh  dear  !  "  says  I,  ''  I  wish  ye  hadn't  a  went  so  soon 
for  my  chist  han't  cum,  and  I  han't  nothin'  to  put  on." 


WIDOW  SFEIGGIiXS.  57 

<*Well,"  says  he,  *' it  can't  be  helpt  now  —  them  are 
wimmin  don't  want  to  send  their  dorters  to  school  to  a 
person  they  han't  seen,  so  you  must  jest  fix  up  the  best 
way  you  can,  and  do  yer  purtiest." 

*' Well,"  says  I,  *' but  where's  my  simlnary  to  be 
loquated  ?  " 

*'  In  deacon  Peabody's  chomber,"  says  he,  *'  he's  got  a 
master  gret  room,  and  we'll  jest  put  some  benches  into  't, 
and  ittle  be  jest  the  thing ;  and  you  must  write  an  adver- 
tysement,  and  I'll  stick  it  up  in  Doty's  bar-room."  So 
arter  breckfust  I  went  into  my  room  and  writ  the  follerin' 
advertysement : 

**  Miss  Ruggles,  racently  from  Podunk,  bein'  obligated 
by  unrecountable  misfortins  to  lobsquander  from  the  hum 
of  her  childhood,  and  desirin'  to  devairt  her  mawlancolly 
mind  sumhow  —  would  conform  the  inhabiters  of  Higglns 
Patent,  and  its  civinity,  that  she  has  resolved  to  instruct  a 
siminary  of  young  wimmin,  or  shemales,  from  six  years 
old  along  up.  Miss  R.  would  insure  the  public  of  her 
complete  comptitude  to  undertake  this  undertakin',  and 
han't  no  doubt  she'll  giv  gineral  satisfication.  Besides 
understandin'  all  the  branches  that's  taught  in  any  simlnary 
she  will  larin  'em  to  paint  on  velvet,  and  to  be  perlite,  and 
she  don't  want  nobody  to  think  she's  a  going  to  do  it  for 
money,  for  she  dispises  remoneyration,  and  only  jest  wants 
to  teach  to  pervent  herself  from  sinkin'  in  despair.  She 
caliates  to  begin  on  Monday  the  15th  of  June." 

I  hadn't  more'n  got  it  writ  afore  I  heerd  a  racket,  and  I 
lookt  out  of  the  winder,  and  lo  and  behold,  'twas  Obadiah 
Coggsdil  —  thunderin'  along  with  a  waggin  load  of  tin 
pans  and  lanterns,  &c.,  and  as  much  as  forty  folks  arter 
him  —  for  tin  pedlars  didn't  cum  to  Higgins  Patent  often 


58  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

and  when  they  did  cum  the  folks  made  a  gineral  time  on't. 
He  stopt  afore  uncle  Jorrockses,  and  all  the  people  gath- 
ered round  to  egzamin'  his  ,^tufF,  and  he  was  so  bizzy 
praisin'  of  'em  up  that  I  begun  to  be  afeard  he'd  forgot  my 
chist.     Byme  by  says  one  on 'em, 

**  What  ye  got  in  this  gret  box?" 

Says  Obadlah  says  he,  "  That  are's  a  chist  of  clus  old 
Ruggleses  folks  sent  out  to  their  Milly ;  she  run  off  with- 
out takin'  anything  with  her,  and  I  wouldn't  .a  brung  the 
plaguy  thing  if  I  hadn't  a  ben  a  frind  of  the  old  man.  I 
tell'd  'em  if  I  was  them  I  wouldn't  send  the  slut  nothin', 
for  she  don't  desarve  to  be  treated  no  how." 

You  never  see  a  madder  creetur  than  I  Avas  that  minnit 
—  for  there  was  some  of  the  fust  folks  in  the  village 
standin'  there,  and  says  one  on  'em  to  another  one, 

**  Why,  Squire  Jones,  this  must  be  the  same  young 
woman  that's  a  guayne  to  teach  the  siminary." 

M  Sure  enufF,  deacon  ;  "  says  he,  *'  and  I  say  we'd  better 
make  the  feller  tell  all  about  her,  for  he  seems  to  know  — 
what  do  you  think  about  It,  Dr.  Davis?  " 

*'  Why,"  says  he,  "  I  think  we'd  or't  to  find  out  the 
hull,  for  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  send  my  dorter  to  school 
to  a  person  that  ain't  respectable,  if,  she's  ever  so  accom- 
plished." 

<' No  more  don't  I,"  says  Squire  Jones  —  "nor  I 
nyther,"  says  all  the  rest. 

I  tell  ye  I  couldn't  hold  in  no  longer ;  so  I  stuck  my 
head  out  of  the  winder,  and  says  I,  *'  Misters!"  They 
all  lookt  up,  and  when  they  see  me  they  was  bethunder- 
struck  ;  and  I  must  a  lookt  very  strikin'  —  had  a  gret  big 
lalock  stuck  in  my  head,  and  my  pen  that  I'd  ben  a  writia' 
with  in  my  hand,  and  I  streched  out  the  hand  that  had  the 


WIDOW  SPRIGGINS.  59 

pen  In,  and  laid  t'other  on  my  heart,  and  was  jest  a  guayne 
to  begin  when  Obadlah  he  see  me  and  says  he, 

**  Golly  !  Miss  Ruggles,  is  that  you?  well,  I've  fetched 
yer  old  chlst "  — 

What  else  he  signed  to  say  I  don't  know,  for  Dr.  Davis 
took  holt  on  him  and  shook  him  and  says  he, 

**  Stop  yer  yaw-hawin ;  don't  ye  see  the  lady's  guayne 
to  speak." 

So  he  stopt  and  I  begun  agin,  and  addrested  'em  as 
follers  :  *<  Gentlemen — as  ye  don't  know  nothin'  con- 
sairnin'  me  only  what  you've  heern  from  this  ere  ignorant 
creetur,  I  spose  you  mi^st  intertain  straunge  idees  about 
me  ;  but  If  you  knowd  what  I've  underwent  to  hum — If 
you  knowd  my  afflictions  and  mawltreatment,  you  wouldn't 
blame  me  nun  for  lobsquanderln',  nor  ye- wouldn't  llstin  a 
minnit  to  the  agrogious  disrepresentatlons  this  vilHng  pro- 
mulgates, and  if  you'll  call  on  me  this  arternoon  I'll  tell 
ye  the  hull  of  my  history  from  eend  to  eend." 

So  they  convairsed  together  a  spell  and  then  Dr.  Davis 
he  stept  out  from  the  middle  on  'em,  and  says  he, 

*'  We'll  do  ourselves  the  honor  of  callino^  on  Miss  Rus:- 
gles  this  arternoon." 

So  say  in'  he  hysted  his  hat  and  made  a  low  bow,  and  I 
made  a  curchy,  and  the  men  they  went  hum,  but  I  ob- 
salrved  Dr.  Davis  look  back  at  me  In  admireation,  and  I 
knowd  he  was  besmitten  at  fust  sight ;  but  thinks  me,  it 
won't  do  to  incurrldge  him,  for  my  affections  is  unrecover- 
ably  gin  to  another ;  (Dr.  Davis  was  a  widdyer,  a  very 
nice,  smart  man  —  very  much  set  by  —  and  an  oncommon 
good  physicianer  too.)  Well,  Uncle  Jonah  he  went  out 
and  brung  in  my  chlst,  and  then  I  read  my  advertysement 
to  him  and  his  wife,  and  they  said  'twas  fust  rate,  and  uncle 


60  WIDOW  SmiGGINS. 

he  telld  me  to  write  four  or  five  on  'em  to  stick  up  in  the 
towns  round  there.  So  I  did  —  and  when  I'd  got  'em  writ 
I  reckoned  twas  time  to  habillate  myself  for  the  company 
that  was  a  comin'  to  see  me,  so  I  onlocked  my  chist,  and 
took  out  a  white  dimity  with  a  long  short  with  a  blue  rib- 
bin'  round  the  botton  on't,  and  put  it  on,  and  tied  a.  red 
sash  round  my  waist ;  then  I  took  and  tied  a  yaller 
ribbin  round  my  head  and  stuck  a  number  of  mornin' 
glories  in  it ;  then  I  huv  a  pink  silk  long  shawl  round  my 
neck,  and  my  twilight  was  completed.  So  you  see  I  didn't 
depart  from  the  elegant  simplicity  always  conspicious  in 
my  dress.  Arter  dinner  I  went  and  sot  down  in  the 
square  room  and  purty  soon  I  heerd  a  master  loud  talkin' 

—  so  I  looked  out,  and  'twas  Dickens,  and  Jones,  and 
Peabody,  and  Doty,  and  their  wives,  and  Dr.  Davis,  a 
comin'  up  the  hill ;  so  I  fixed  myself  in  a  reclinin'  poster, 
and  took  the  Childern  of  the  Abby  and  begun  readin'. 
Purty  soon  they  knockt,  and  Aunt  Huldy  she  hollered, 
**  Walk  in  "  —  so  in  they  all  cum,  and  aunt  she  introduced 
us,  and  the  gentlemen  made  bows,  and  the  ladies  and  me, 
we  made  curchys  to  one  another,  and  we  all  said  we 
hoped  for  better  acquaintence.  Arter  talkin'  about  the 
weather  a  spell,  says  Missis  Peabod}^  says  she, 

**  So  you're  a  guayne  to  set  up  siminary,  hay?" 
*'  I  sign' to,"  says  I,  '*  If  I  can  git  patternage." 
Says  Missis  Dickens  says  she,  *'  we've  all  agreed  to  send 
our  dorters  to  ye,  but  we've  heern  ruther  an  onfavorable 
account  on  ye  from  a  tin  pedlar  from  3'our  place." 

Says  Deacon  Peabody  says  he,  "my  wife  and  I  we  thot" 

—  says  Missis  Peabody,  interruptin'  of  him — '*  I  telld 
Mr.  Peabody  that  seein'  you  was  a  guayne  to  teach  in  our 
chomber  if    you   was   raly    sich   an    obstropelous   young 


win  0  W  SPRIG  GINS.  6 1 

woman  as  the  pedlar  tell'd  for  —  'twould  bring  reproach  on 
our  house,  and  Mr.  Peabody's  ben  deacon  risin'  20  year, 
and  has  always  been  lookt  up  to  by  the  hull  town,  so  says 
I,  Deacon,  I  guess  we'll  go  and  larn  the  truth  on't." 

Says  Deacon  Peabody  says  he,  "  I  says  to  Missis  Pea- 
body,  says  I,  it    looks    kinder   suspicious." 

*'  No,  you  didn't,"  says  she,  *'  'twas  me  said  it  to  you  — 
says  I,  Deacon,  says  I,  it  seems  to  me  it  looks  kinder  sus- 
picious for  a  young  woman  to  come  here  and  keep  herself  so 
scerce  for  more'n  a  week.  I  reckon  we'd  or't  to  know  more 
about  her  afore  we  giv  her  our  chomber  to  teach  in."  So 
they  kept  on  continuyin'  talkin'  for  ever  so  long,  and  at  last 
says  Dr.  Davis  says  he, 

«'  We  cum  for  the  purpose  of  hearin'  Miss  Ruggleses 
explanigation,  and  if  the  ladies  can  cum  to  a  ceesation  for 
a  spell,  we'll  listen  to  her." 

So  I  with  my  eyes  cast  down  —  my  face  diffused  with 
blushes  — with  a  mournful  sythe,  begun  : 

**  My  Friends  :  —  My  history  is  uncomboundably  mis- 
fortinate.  I  concurred  the  displeasure  of  a  cruel  and  tor- 
ranical  ftither,  by  bein'  unwillin'  to  unite  my  destination 
with  a  creetur  I  couldn't  belove,  for  I  couldn't  experience 
for  him  the  uncontrolable  affection  that  is  desirable  to  ren- 
der the  mattermonial  state  agreeable,  and  I'd  cum  to  a 
detairmination  not  to  have  nobody  that  want  as  pleasin' 
and  elegant  as  Lord  Mortimer,  the  young  man  this  ere 
charmin'  book  tells  about,  (here  I  took  and  kist  the  Chil- 
dern  of  the  Abby,)  and  he  want  no  more  like  him  than  a 
punkin's  like  a  potater,  and  you  will  sairtinly  compatigate 
my  sorrers  when  I  conform  you  that  my  unfeelin'  parent 
even  thretened  to  confound  me  In  a  gloomy  dungin  if  I 
6 


62  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

didn't  obey  his  onreasonable  command ;  and  who,  I  ax, 
wouldn't,  when  circumstances  arrove  to  sich  a  pitch  —  who 
wouldn't,  if  she'd  the  least  jot  of  sensibility  —  who 
wouldn't  elop  from  the  paternal  ruff,  and  seek  a  sylum  In 
a  distant  land?  Alas  !"  says  I,  raisin'  my  eyes  svvimmin' 
in  tears,  and  layin'  my  hand  on  my  bustin'  heart  —  "  I 
lobsquandered  to  this  place,  hopin'  to  spend  my  time  in 
unbeknown  sequestration  — -  intendin'  to  wander  in  these 
inspirin'  woods,  givin'  ritteration  to  my  woes  in  poetry  — 
for  I  write  poetry.  But  even  here  I  couldn't  be  let  alone, 
for  I've  jist  received  from  my  father  a  pistle  charged  with  a 
mandrake  to  make  me  go  to  work  Immejuntly,  or  else  he'll 
remander  me  back  to  that  dretful  dunjin  I've  jest  escaped  ; 
and  as  I  don't  desire  to  employ  my  fair  hands  in  wroughtin' 
at  salrvyle  labor,  I  thought,  seein'  I  was  intlrely  quallfi- 
cient,  I'd  teach  a  simminary." 

All  the  while  I  was  makin'  this  speech  ye  never  see  a 
surprlsder  lookln'  set  of  folks  than  them  I  was  addressin' 

—  and  for  a  spell  arter  I'd  done  there  wan't  a  word  spoke 

—  and  Dr.  Davis  he  seemed  to  be  wonderfully  affected, 
for  he  turned  his  face  round  and  lookt  out  the  winder  all 
the  time.     At  last  says  Deacon  Peabody  says  he, 

**  Well,  I  never  heerd  sich  a  master  sight  of  crooked 
words  in  my  day.  I  rather  guess .  my  dorter  han't  no 
casion  to  lairn  sich  stuff."  I  s'pose  Missis  Peabody  was  a 
waitin'  to  see  what  opinion  the  deacon  would  ixpress  so  's 
to  have  hern  conterary  to  It,  for  she  broke  right  in  and 
says  she, 

*'  I  ruther  guess,  mister  Deacon  Peabody,  ittle  be  as  I 
say.  My  Mirandy  shall  go  to  this  ere  young  woman's 
school,  for  I  never  heerd  nobody  use  eleganter  language 
in  my  life,  so  you  may  shet  yer  head." 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  G3 

I  tell  ye  the  deacon  did  sliet  up  his  head  and  lookt  as 
if  he  wished  he  hadn't  opened  it.  As  soon  as  Missis  Pea- 
body  ixprest  her  mind  the  rest  of  the  wimmin  up  and 
agreed  wif/h  her,  and  it  was  purty  ivident  that  she  was  the 
rulin'  womarn  in  HIgglns  Patent.  They  all  on  'em  said 
they'd  patternise  me,  and  the  men  they  lookt  purty  grumpy, 
but  they  darsent  say  a  word. 

Arter  a  spell,  says  Deacon  P.  says  he,  <*  I  guess  we'd 
better  be  goin'." 

''  Well,  I  guess  I  ain't  a  guayne  to  be  in  no  hurry," 
says  his  wife,   **  you  may  go  as  soon  as  you  please,  tho'." 

*'  So  may  you,"  says  Missis  Dickens  to  her  husband. 

*<  So  may  you,"  says  Missis  Doty  to  hern. 

**  So  may  you,"  says  Missis  Jones  to  the  squire,  and  so 
the  men  folks  went  off,  and  the  wimmin  stayed.  *'  Now 
do  take  off  yer  things  and  stay  to  tea,"  says  Aunt  Huldy, 

*'  Well,  I  didn't    cum  to  stay,"    says    Missis  Peabody. 

*'  Nor  I  nyther,"  says  Missis  Dickens. 

**  Me  nyther,"  says  Missis  Jones. 

*«  No  more  didn't  I,"  says  Missis  Doty. 

"  But  I  don't  know  but  Pll  stay,"  says  Missis  Peabody. 

**  Well,  I  guess  I  will,"  says  all  the  others. 

So  they  took  off  their  things,  and  purty  soon  every  one 
on  'em  hawled  out  th^ir  nittin'  work,  and  I  tell  ye,  they 
want  nun  on  'em  slow  to  talk  —  but  I  can't  spend  time  to 
tell  about  their  visit.  In  the  evenin'  arter  they'd  all  gone, 
I  went  out  to  take  a  walk,  and  as  I  went  by  the  housen 
everybody  cum  to  the  doors  and  winders  to  look  at  me, 
and  when  I  past  by  Dr.  Davises  office  I  see  him  a  peekin' 
out,  and  I  pitied  him  amazinly,  for  I  see  he  was  despotly 
took  with  me  —  and  thinks  me,  I'd  ort  to  let  him  know 
right  off  that  his  case  is  hopeless.     So  I  went  into  the 


64  WIDOW  SFEIGGINS. 

woods  and  took  my  pencil  and  paper  and  writ  the  follerin' 
billet  : 

"  Respectable  Doctor:  —  It  is  with  compunctious  distress 
that  I  conform  j^ou  I  never  can  be  yourn  — my  afiections  is 
gin.  incondubitably  gin  to  another  —  Tm  plighted  to  Philan- 
der —  try  to  forgit  me  I  beseech  on  ye  —  may  that  peace 
and  happiness  you  so  truly  desairve  to  possess  be  yourn  — 
and  may  they  never  agin  meet  with  sich  conterruptions  as 
they  have  received  from  the  unable  but  pittyin'* 

"Permilly  Ruggles." 


When  I'd  writ  it  I  went  and  huv  it  into  his  office  winder, 
and  then  I  went  back  into  the  woods  to  ponderate.  So  I 
sot  down  on  a  log  under  a  tree,  and  whilst  I  was  a  think- 
in'  I  heerd  sumbody  sythe,  and  I  lookt  round  and,  lo  and 
behold,  'twas  Philander  leanin'  agin  a  tree  with  his  honker- 
cher  up  to  his  eyes.  So  I  goes  up  to  him  and  says  I, 
takin'  hold  of  his  hand,  "  Philander,  why  so  mawlan- 
colly?" 

"Alas!"  says  he,   "  lovliest  of  created  bein's,  I  must 

leave  you." 

"  Leave  me  !  "  says  I,  **  I  shall  sairtin  faint  away  ;  do 
ketch  me  !  "  So  he  led  me  to  a  log,  and  I  sot  down,  and 
says  h^  "  Compose  yerself,  my  anngel." 

Arter  a  spell  says  I,  "  I've  composed  myself,  now  per- 
ceed." 

And  says  he,  ''  I'm  obleejed  to  depart." 

And  says  I,  *'  Don't  for  massy's  sake  tell  me  where  yer 
a  o-uayne,  —  for  'twont  be  half  so  interestm'  as  'twill  to  be 
in  onsairtinty  consairnin  ye." 


*  Cbildern  of  the  Abby,  chap.  17. 


WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS.  G  5 

•'Well  then,"  says  he,  *'let  me  jest  tell  ye  we  must 
part  for  a  number  of  months,  —  perhaps  a  year,  —  and  oh  ! 
my  'charmer  !  can  you  remember  me  ?  " 

*'  Gracious!"  jackleated  I,  "don't  ye  know  yer  Per- 
milly's  heart  is  oncapable  of  bein'  faithless?" 

"I  can't  doubt  it,"  says  he,  "  but  it's  enufF  to  split  my 
heart,  —  it's  like  cuttin'  me  into  inch  pieces  to  bid  ye  fare- 
well !  but  it  must  be  so."-  So  he  prest  me  to  his  bussoin 
and  went  groanin'  oif ;  but  afore  he'd  got  fur  I  happened 
to  think  and  says  I,  ''  Stop  a  minnit,  Philander,  don't  ye 
know  when  Lord  Mortimer  went  away  he  gin  Amandy  his 
picter,  and  I  want  yourn." 

*'  Alas  !  "  says  he,  '*  I  han't  nun  ;  but  I  can  make  one 
in  a  minnit."  So  he  took  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  took  my  pencil  and  drawd  a  head  on't  and  gin 
it  to  me. 

*'Why,"  says  I,  "that  don't  look  nun  like  you." 

**Yes,  it  does,"  says  he,  "it's  exact,  —  you'll  see  by 
daylight."  So  I  took  it,  and  then  arter  takin'  anotlier 
farewell  he  departed,  and  I  sunk  down  on  the  log  over- 
powered. But  then  I  was  comforted  in  thinkin'  how  much 
our  partin'  was  like  Lord  Mortimer's  and  Amandy's  —  so 
sudding  —  and  how  much  they  underwent  when  they  was 
apart,  and  how  it  did  seem  as  if  they  never  would  meet 
agin  ;  and  thinks  me,  mabby  ittle  be  jest  so  with  us,  — no 
knowin'  —  but  any  how  it's  to  be  expected.  PU  take  on 
while  he's  gone,  —  so  arter  sheddin'  a  cropious  flood  of 
tears,  I  writ  the  follerin  stanzys  : 

He's  gone,  I'm  Bure  I  don't  know  where, 

Nor  when  he'll  come  agin ; 
And  there's  no  tellin'  what  dispair 
My  droopin'  heart  is  in  I 
6* 


GQ  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

And  I  dear  me  aus  I  when  we're  apart 

If  be  forgits  Permilly, 
'Twill  sairtin  break  her  lovin'  heart, 

And  make  her  brain  grow  chilly. 

Murder  I  can  he  be  false  to  me  f 

I'd  kill  me  if  he  should  — 
But  no  I  I  guess  he'll  constant  be, 

Because  he  vowed  he  would. 

But  goody  gracious  1  what  shall  I 

Do  when  he's  gone  away  ? 
On  this  ere  log  I'll  sit  and  cry, 

And  sythe  and  groan  I  say. 

When  rd  got  this  poitry  writ  the  moon  was  a  shinin', 
and  I  reckoned  it  must  be  purty  late,  so  I  went  hum,  and 
when  I  went  by  Dr.  Davises  office  I  heerd  him  a  talkin' 
and  laffin  consairnedly  with  sumbody  that  sounded  jest 
like  Philander,  —  but  I'd  no  idee  'twas  Philander  —  for  he 
felt  too  distresst  to  laff,  and  I  reckoned  the  doctor  hadn't 
found  my  billet  yet,  for  if  he  had  he  couldn't  a  felt  so 
cherful. 

Arter  this  there  want  nothin'  worth  relatin'  took  place 
in  several  days  till  I  begun  my  school,  —  only  I  writ  the 
follerin'  epigrannj^  one  night  whilst  I  was  a  gazin'  on  the 
minnytiire  of  my  absent  Philander  : 

He  feared  that  I'd  forget  him  quite, 
As  soon  as  he  got  out  of  sight  — 

He  wouldn't  think  me  so  vile 
If  he  should  see-me  ev'ry  night 
By  moonshine  or  by  candle  light, 

A  lookin'  at  his  profyle. 


WIDOW  SPRIGGINS.  67 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  'Tis  eddycation  forms  the  common  mind, 
Jest  as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree's  inclined." 

English  Reader. 


S  soon  as  Aurory  had  ^opened  the  porticos  of  the 
horizon,  the  fair  Permilly  ariz  and  arranged  her 
attire  —  for  'twas  the  momentuous  mornin'  that 
her  siminary  was  guayne  to  begin.  I  put  on  a 
yaller  streeked  open  gownd  with  a  flounce  round  it,  and  a 
long  green  sash  round  my  waist,  and  a  blue  crape  turbin 
on  my  head,  with  one  long  black  ostridge  feather  stuck  in 
it,  then  I  put  my  pink  silk  long  shawl  round  my  neck, 
and  then  condescended  down  into  the  breckfust  room. 

Arter  breckfust  Uncle  Jonah  he  gin  me  his  watch,  say  in' 
I'd  need  a  time-piece  in  school.  'Twas  an  extrornary  gret 
silver  Avatch  —  don't  see  no  sich  big  watches  now-days. 
So  I  tied  it  to  a  red  ribbin  and  hung  it  round  my  neck, 
and  'twas  so  big  I  couldn't  stuff  it  under  my  ^ash,  so  I  let 
it  hang  outside.  Bein'  all  ready  for  a  start  I  happened  to 
think  how't  I  or'to  carry  Philander's  picter  with  me  all 
the  time,  and  what  to  do  I  dident  know,  for  I  was  afeard 
'twould  get  rubbed  out.  So  I  went  to  Uncle  Jonah  and 
axed  him  if  he  hadn't  sum  kind  of  a  small  flat  box  he 
could  lend  me  (didn't  tell  him  what  I  wanted  on't  — 
hadn't  said  a  w^ord  to  him  nor  Aunt  Huldy  about  Philan- 
der).    So   he  went  to   his  chist  and  bawled  out   a  tin  to- 


6S  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

baccer  box  with  a  snap  to  It  and  axed  me  if  'twould  do. 
**That  are's  the  very  thing."  So  I  put  the  picter  in't, 
and  jammed  it  under  my  sash,  and  took  my  parrysol  and 
set  out  for  school,  and  as  I  went  bythe  housen  'twas  curus 
to  see  the  folks  peekin'  out  and  exclaimin',  *'  There  goes 
the  new  school-marm.     Did  you  ever  !  "  and  sich  like. 

Well,  I  cum  to  the  deacon's  and  Missis  Peabody  she 
cum  to  the  door  and  showed  me  the  way  into  the  school- 
room, and  you  never  heerd  sich  a  racket  as  there  was 
there  afore  I  went  in,  but  as  soon  as  they  see  me  they 
was  as  still  as  mice.  There  was  about  thirty  gearls  there, 
and  a  number  cum  in  arter  I  did,  so't  I  had  forty -seven  in 
the  hull,  and  sum  on  'em  was  purty  big;  so  I  made  the 
big  ones  set  on  one  side  and  the  leetle.ones  on  'tother  side, 
and  arter  I'd  got  'em  all  arranged,  says  I,  *'Siminary's 
beo^un  :  "  and  then  1  made  'em  read  round  in  the  Enolish 
Reader.  Arier  they'd  read,  I  axed  'em  if  they'd  ever  sy- 
phered,  and  they  all  said  '*  No."  So  I  tell'd  'em  to  take 
their  slates,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  out  that  more'n 
half  on  'em  couldn't  make  figgers  —  so  1  tell'd  'em  to  take 
the  rethmetic  and  copy 'em  out  on't. 

"Now,"  says  I,  *'  make  one  side  of  yer  slates  jest  as 
full  of  figgers  as  ittle  hold."  So  they  did  ;  and  then  says 
Mirandy  PeUbody  says  she,  "  What  shall  we  do  next?" 

"  Don't  ye  know  nothin'?"  says  I,  *'  make  t'other  side 
full."     So  they  did  :  and  then  says  Mirandy,  '^  What  next  ?  " 

"Rub  'em  out,"  says  I,  "  and  put  up  yer  slates ;  ye've 
syphered  enufF  for  one  day ;  the  big  ones  may  go  out 
whilst  I  hear  the  little  ones  spell,"  (for  spellin'  I  always 
tho't  was  the  most  importinate  part  of  eddycation  :)  so  I 
made  the  little  gearls  stand  up  in  a  row,  and  I  took  a  spell- 
in'  book  in   one  hand  and   a  switch  in  t'other,  and  says  I, 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  69 

"  Xow  the  fust  one  that  misses  shall  be  whipt  .and  go  to  the 
foot.'* 

*'  Well,"  says  Drusilly  Doty,  says  she,  **  what  will  be 
did  to  me  if  I  miss?  "   (she  was  to  the  foot.) 

"  Nun  of  yer  sarce,"  says  I.  Well  the  fust  time  round 
they  all  spelt  right  but  Phllandy  Dickens,  and  I  did  as  I 
said  I  would  to  her.  Next  time  round  I  put  out  '*  grub," 
to  Hepsy  Hawkins  ;  she  was  to  the  head,  and  says  she, 
i  i  g-r-w-eb ,  grub . " 

**  There  aint  no  sich  letter  as  *  eb,' "  says  I,  "  go  down 
to  the  foot."  So  she  started  and  run  as  fast  as  ever  she 
could  so's  I  couldn't  git  a  chance  to  whip  her.  **  Now, 
Hepsy  Hawkins,"  says  I,  "to  pay  for  that  are  trick  of 
your'n  you  shall  always  be  in  a  class  by  yerself." 

*<Good!"  says  §he,  **  then  I  shall  always  be  at  the 
head." 

«<  Go  long  and  set  on  the  floor  under  the  table,"  says  I. 
So  she  went  and  then  I  put  it  out  to  Bricy  Stokes  and  she 
spelt  it  right.  *' Now,"  says  I,  *' what's  the  meaning 
on't?"  Bricy  couldn't  tell,  nor  nun  of  the  rest  on  'em. 
So  says  I,  "What  eats  up  the  cabbages?  " 

'«  Why,  folks,"  says  Eitty  Rickets. 

'*  Well,"  says  I,  **what  eats  'em  up  when  they're 
growin'  in  the  garding  ?  " 

Says  she,  "  The  critters  gits  in  and  eat  'em  sura- 
times." 

*'  Don't  ye  know  nothin'?"  says  I,  ''  why  worms  eats 
'em  and  worms  is  grubs." 

"Now,"  says  Melissy  Peabody,  "I  know  what  for 
father  says  every  day  how't  we're  all  worms  —  it's  cause 
we  eat  sich  a  master  sight  of  cabbages." 

"Set  down,"  says  I,   "everyone  on  ye ;    ye  talk   so 


70  WIDOW  SrRIGGINS. 

much  there  an't  no  sich  thing  as  hearin'  on  ye  spell." 
•Alter  a  spell  I  tell'd  'em  they  might  go  out  and  send  the 
big  ones  in.  So  they  run  hollerin'  and  yellin'  and  tearin' 
down  stairs,  and  it  did  seem  as  if  the  hull  house  would 
cum  down.  Thinks  me,  I'll  fix  'em  for  that.  Purty  soon 
Hepsy  Haw^kins  —  she't  was  under  the  table  —  says  to 
me  : 

*'  Miss  Ruggles,  may  tent  I  go  out?" 

"  No,  ye  maytent/'  says  I. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  was  sassy,"  says  she,  **  I  won't  be  never 
agin  if  ye'll  lemme  go  out." 

*'  Well,  go,"  says  I.     Whilst  she  was  guayne,  says  I, 
*'  Ye'll  never  be  sassy  agin,  hay  ?  "* 

"  No,  straw  "  says  she,  and  cut  out  of  the  door. 
Thinks  me,  she'll  git  it !  Well,  the  big  gearls  cum  in  and 
I  axed  'em  if  they'd  ever  studied  grommer.  Most  on  'em 
said  they  had  sum.  "Well,"  says  I,  *'it's  best  to  be 
pairfect  in't ;  and  seein'  you've  studied  sum  afore,  ye  may 
lairn  half  way  through  at  once  so's  to  git  done  quick  and 
go  to  parsin'."  So  they  went  to  studyin' and  I  w^ent  to 
the  door  and  call'd  the  little  ones  in,  and  arter  I'd  holler'd 
to  'em  I  went  behind  the  door  and  as  fast  as  each  one  cum 
in  I  hit  her  a  cufF,  and  when  Hepsy  Hawkins  cum  in  I 
took  and  slung  her  round  and  round,  and  made  her  go 
back  under  the  table.  Well,  they  all  y  el  I'd  and  bellered 
like  split ;  you  never  heerd  sich  a  racket,  I'm  sartin. 
Purty  soon  I  lookt  at  my  watch  and  see  'twas  time  to  let 
out,  so  I  tell'd  'em  they  might  go  hum,  and  they  all  went 
only  jest  about  a  dozen  that  brung  their  dinners  ;  I'd  brung 
mine  tew  —  for  'twas  most  a  mild  to  Uncle  Jorrockses  — 
so  I  took  it  out  of  my  undispensible  and  eat  it.  It  sub- 
sisted of  two  slices  of  bread  and  butter  stuck  together,  a 


WIDOW  SPRIGGINS.  71 

■» 
hunk  of  cheese,  a  pickle,  and  an  apple  turnover.     That 
was  all  the  dinner  I  took,  for  I  never  had  no  great  of  an 
appetite  —  bein'  like  Amandy,  ye  know  she  only,  took  sum 
*'  slio'ht  refreshments  " —  and  whilst  I  was  eatin'  thinks 
1  me,  I  wonder  if  Amandy  had   sich  a  tussle  gittin'  along 
;  with. her  school  as  I  do  ;  I'll  look  Into  the  Childern  of  the 
\  Abby  when  I  get  hum  and  see,  for  I've  eny  most  forgot ; 
I  my  memory's   ruther  forgitful  sumtimes,  but  O  !  I  never 
shall  forgit  my  Philander.     So  I  took  out  my  tobaccer  box 
and  lookt  at  him.     Arter  « '  gazin'  on't  with  agonizin'  ten- 
derness "*  for   a   spell,  and  syln'  and   groanin'  and  kissin' 
i  on't,  I  put  It  back,  and  I  see  all    the  gearls   a  whisperln' 
and  wonderin' ;  so  says  I  to  'em  : 

'  *  O  gearls  !  the  belovedest  and  vallyablest  thing  I've 
got  Is  in  this  ere  box." 

«*  What  Is  it?  "  says  they,  *«  and  what  makes  ye  cry  and 
groan  over  it  so  ?  " 

*'  Ax  me  no  questions,"  says  I,  **  I  don't  desire  to  dis- 
pose confidence  in  nobody." 

Well,  purty  soon  the  scholars  all  cum  in  and  I  begun 
school.  Then  I  made  the  little  ones  all  take  their  so  win', 
only  Hepsy  Hawkins  and  sent  her  under  the  table  agin, 
and  she  went  without  makin'  a  speck  of  fuss.  I  see  she 
had  sumthin'  under  her  apern  and  I  axed  her  what  'twas, 
and  she  said  'twas  her  spellin'-book.  Well,  I  sot  the  little 
gearls  to  sowin' ;  sum  on 'em  had  pieces  of  calicer  to 
make  bed-kivers  on,  and  sum  on  'em  had  cloth  to  lairn  to 
mark  letters  and  make  birds  and  trees  on.  Then  I  heerd 
the  big  ones  recite  In  grommer,  and  they  kept  a  stoppin'  for 
me  to  ax  'em  questions,  but   says  I,  "  That  an't  no  way  ; 


Childern  of  the  Abby,  chap.  17. 


72  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

ye  must  begin  to  the  beginnin'  of  yer  lesson,  and  say  clean 
to  the  eend  on't  without  stoppin'  once."  So  they  tried  ; 
but  they  made  blunderin'  work  on't  —  I  had  to  keep  tellin' 
on  'em  all  the  time  what  cum  next,  and  when  they  got 
into  cases  it  cum  Sophire  Joneses  turn  and  she'd  forgot 
what  cum  next.  So  says  I,  *' Nammi,  Possmine,  .Ob- 
jine."  Says  Sally  Ann  Higglns,  says  she,  ''Miss  Rug- 
gles,  what's  the  meanin'  of  them  are  words?  they're 
master  queer  !  " 

Says  I,  *'  Miss  Sally  Ann  Higgins^I  guess  ye  ha'n't  ben 
under  very  good  deseplyne  in  the  schools  ye've  ben  to  afore 
yit,  or  ye  wouldn't  darst  to  ax  yer  school-marm  questions, 
and  sich  questions  !  want  to  know  what's  the  meanin'  of 
Nommi,  Possmine'  Objine  !  Why,  its  grommer  —  that's 
the  meanin'  on't  —  so  shet  yer  head." 

When  they'd  got  done  sayin'  grommer  I  tell'd  'em  they 
might  paint  the  rest  of  the  arternoon.  So  they  took  out 
their  velvet  and  paints  and  cum  to  I'd  forgot  my  picters  — 
so  I  sent  Ann  Mariar  Dodge  down  arter  'em  and  when  she 
cum  back  I  tho't  I'd  give  'em  Nomy  and  Ruth  for  the  fust 
lesson.  So  I  stuck  it  up  agin  the  wall  and  helpt  'em  cut 
out  the  theorlms,  and  they  begun,  and  sum  on  'em  done 
very  well,  but  sum  made  dretftd  work,  'specially  about  the 
artificial  flowers  and  fethcrs  on  Ruth's  buunit,  and  sum  on 
'em  made  Nomy's  'nittin'-work  look  as  if  all  i\\Q  stitches 
was  dropt.  Byme-by  I  tell'd  'em  to  put  up  their  paintin' 
and  sowin'  and  put  on  their  things,  for  'twas  time  to  let  out 
school,  —  so  they  did.  Then  I  tell'd  'em  to  stand  up  in  a 
row  all  round  the  edge  of  the  room.  "  Now,"  says  I, 
' '  clasp  yer  hands  acrost  yer  waists  as  I  do  —  now  make 
yer  monners  as  I  do."  Then  I  made  a  low  curchy,  and 
they  all  did  jest  as  I  did.     "  Now,"  says  I,  "I  shall  sus- 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  73 

pect  ye  to  make  yer  monners  every  arternoon  when  school's 
out  without  my  showin'  of  ye,  hoAv  —  SIminary's  out." 
So  they  all  went  hum  only  Hepsy  Hawkins  —  I  made  her 
stay  a  spell  arter.  So  I  slickt  up  my  table,  and  then  I 
caird  Hepsy  Hawkins  out  and  says  I, 

«'  Be  ye  sorry  for  disbehavin'  so  to-day  !  "  Says  she, 
*'YIs;marm." 

Says  I,  * '  Won't  ye  never  misconduct  so  agin  ?  " 

*'  No^marm,"  says  she.  <<  Well  then  ye  may  go  hum," 
says  I.  So  she  ketched  her  bunnit  in  less  than  no  time 
and  run  off  hum.  Then  I  took  my  parrysol  and  walked 
off  humwards  with  the  greatest  deliberosity  and  dignitude 
for  I  reckon  a  school-marm  can't  be  tew  dignified.  Whilst 
I  was  a  guayne  along  every  body  lookt  out  of  the  winder 
and  lafFt,  and  I  met  a  hull  grist  of  boys  guayne  hum  from 
deestrict  school,  and  they  hoorawed  and  clapt  their  hands. 
Thinks  me,  I  wonder  if  this  ere's  the  way  they  suppress 
their  admireation'to  Higgins  Patent.  At  last  when  I  was 
eny  most  hum  I  met  a  young  man  descendin'  up  the  hill  — 
he  had  yaller  hair,  and  a  gret  red  face  and  snufF-colored 
clus  on  and  a  slate  under  his  arm.  Well,  he  stared  at  me 
and  jest  as  I'd  got  along  by  says  he,  "  Marm  ! " 

Says  I,  "Hay!" 

Says  he,  ''  Did  you  know  there's  a  dead  critter  tied  to 
your  sash  ?  " 

"  Gracious  !  "  says  I,  *'  you  don't  say  so."  So  he  stept 
up  and  took  it  off  for  me  and  as  true  as  natur'  'twas  an  old 
dried -up  dead  hen,  and  I  knowd  in  a  minnit  that  Hepsy 
Hawkins  had  did  it  while  I  was  a  fixin'  my  table.  I  never 
in  my  hull  life  had  anything  happen  to  me  that  made  me 
feel  so  bad  as  that  are  did ;  so  I  jest  sot  down  on  the  hill 
and  begun  to  cry. 
7 


7  4  WID  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

<<  Don't  take  on  so,"  says  the  strannger,  ^«  sich  mean 
tricks  hurts  them  as  does  'em  more'n  them  they're  did  to. 
I  wouldn't  worry  about  it,  young  woman." 

<'  O  !  dear  me  suz  !  "  says  I,  "if  Amandy  had  ever  had 
a  dead  hen  tied  to  her  I  wouldn't  care  —  but  there  aint 
nothin'  in  the  hull  of  the  Childern  of  the  Abby  about  a  hen 
nor  any  other  thing  bein'  tied  to  her,  tho'  she  had  all  kinds 
of  trouble  besides  ;  but  goody  grevous  !  my  sorrers  is  big- 
ger than  hern." 

*'  Well,  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  Amandy,"  says  he. 

''  What !  "  says  I,  *'  you  hant  read  the  Childern  of  the 
Abby  ! " 

'*No,I  han't,"  says  he. 

<<  Well,"  says  I,  "  it's  time  ye  did  then,  and  I'll  lend  it 
to  ye,  for  I  feel  extrornary  obleejed  to  ye  for  the  sairvice 
ye've  did  me,  and  ye'll  have  my  everlastin'  gratitution 
for't."  So  sayin'  I  waved  my  hand  for  him  to  go  —  but 
he  didn't  seem  to  take  the  hint,  so  says  I,  "  Don't  you  ap- 
prehend that  are  motion  ?  " 

**  No,  I  don't,"  says  he. 

*' Well,"  says  I,  *«  'twas  the  same  .as  tellin'  of  ye  to 
make  yer  disappearance."  " 'Twas,  hay?"  says  he, 
*'  well,  I  should  like  to  be  better  acquainted,  marm." 

*'  Well,"  says  I,  *'  you  can  have  the  felickity  of  seein' 
me  by  callin'  to  Mr.  Jorrockses,  — for  I  sliall  always  esti- 
mate ye  for  disbegagin'  of  me  from  that  are  consairned  old 
carcass  —  but  frindship  is  all  I  can  proiFerate  ye." 
^  '*  Well,  I'll  cum  there,"  says  he.  Then  I  waved  my 
hand  to  him  agin,  and  he  understood  that  time ;  so  he 
went  off.  Well,  I  got  luim,and  Aunt  Huldy  slie  axed  me 
how  I  got  along  tcacliin'.  **  O  grandfer  grevous  !  "  says 
I,   **  I  never  had  so  much  trouble  in  one  day  in  my  life." 


wiD  0  w  SFEiG  ams.  7  5 

<«  Didn't!"  says  she, 

*<  No,  didn't !  "  says  I.  So  I  tell'd  her  the  hull,  and 
says  she,  "  As  for  that  are  hen  I  shouldn't  care  tew  cents 
about  it,  don't  let  it  giv  ye  no  trouble,  darlin'." 

''  Thank  ye,  beloved  aunt,"  says  I,  "  sympathy  is 
sweet  in  the  most  deepest  affliction."  Arter  tea  I  thought 
I'd  take  a  walk  ;  so  I  took  my  pencil  and  paper  and  a 
shingle  to  write  on,  and  winded  my  way  to  the  very  un- 
dentical  spot  where  I  parted  with  Philander,  and  sittin' 
down  on  a  log  I  writ  the  follerin'  vairses  : 

'Twas  here  I  parted  with  Philander, 
Thro'  the  wide  world  he's  gone  to  wander, 
Six  times  the  mornin'  sun  has  rizen 
Sen  I  beheld  that  face  of  hisn. 

I've  Bcerce  ben  able  for  to  speak 
Thro'  all  this  mawlancholly  week, 
And  sairtin  nobody  would  wonder, 
If  they  should  only  see  Philander. 

So  tall,  so  slender,  and  so  straight, 
So  very  kerless  in  his  gait  — 
His  hair  is  black  —  his  hands  is  white  — 
His  voice  is  sweet  —  his  eyes  is  bright. 

The  sorrcrs  I  indure ;    Good  Landy  I 
Are  like  the  sorrers  of  Amandy. 
But  whilst  I'm  blest  with  sich  a  beau, 
I'm  willin'  for  to  suffer  woe. 

But  whilst  he's  gone  what  shall  I  do? 
Dear  suz  !  how  shall  I  live  it  through  ? 
If  all  the  world  was  mine  I'd  gin  it 
To  see  my  darlin'  half  a  minnit. 

Six  times  the  mornin'  sun  has  rizen 
Sen  I  beheld  that  ftice  of  hisn  — 
And  here  each  night  I'll  cum  and  cry, 
I  hope  we'll  meet  agin  byme-by. 


76  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

Arter  I'd  writ  it  I  went  hum  and  Aunt  Huldy  tell'd  me 
that  Missis  Wilkins  had  sent  her  and  me  an  invitation  to 
cum  to  her  house  the  next  evenin'  to  a  party. 

*'  ril  go  if  you  do,"  says  I. 

"Well,  I  shall  go  sartin,"  says  she,  **  for  Widder 
Wilkins  haint  never  invited  me  there  afore.  She  haint 
lived  to  Higgins  Patent  but  2  or  3  year,  and  haint  took 
much  notice  of  the  wimmin  here.  I  always  reckoned  she 
felt  above  us  'cause  she's  rich  and  lives  purty  grand  ;  but 
mabby  she  don't." 

Well,  bed  time  cum  and  I  retired  to  my  couch  of  repose 
and  fell  into  a  gentle  and  survivin'  slumber  and  next 
mornin'  I  woke  up  revigorated  and  went  to  my  siminary. 
Things  progranced  about  as  they  did  the  day  afore,  only 
Hepsy  Hawkins  dldent  cum,  and  Mirandy  Peabody  said 
how't  Missis  Hawkins  said  she  couldn't  cum  no  more 
'cause  I  was  partial.  I  tell  ye  she'd  a  got  a  peelin'  if  she 
had  a  cum. 


WIDOW  SFEIGGmS,  77 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  She  sent  him  word  she  couldn't  wed. 
He  heard  the  tale  and  reason  fled," 

Unbeknown  . 
And  when  at  last  his  mind  got  right, 
He  went  and  married  out  of  spite. 

Addition  by  me. 


HE  second  day  I  kept  school  as  I  was  a  windin'  my 
way  hum  I  set  down  under  a  tree  to  look  at  Phi- 
lander's  pictur.  And  whilst  I  was  a  syin'  and 
groanin'  over  It,  lo  and  behold,  the  same  young 
man  I  see  the  day  afore  cum  along  with  his  slate  under  his 
arm  and  more'n  a  hundred  boys  arter  him,  cuffin'  and 
fightin'  and  throwin'  stuns.  When  the  young  man  see  me, 
says  he,  "  Yer  sarvent,  marm." 

I  bowed  to  him  putty  stiff,  and  he  cum  right  up  and  sot 
down  aside  of  me,  and,  says  he,  — 

**  Seems  tome  ye   look  mawlancolly,   young  woman; 
hope  ye  haint  had  no  more  trouble  to-day." 

*'  Mister,"  jackleated  I,  '*  I  beseated  myself  in  this  ere 
solitary  spot  to  medificate  alone,  and  gaze  a  spell  in  raptcr 
on  this  dear  tresher,  the  ony  thing  that  perduces  me  any 
satisfjiction,  and  I  don't  desire  to  be  contruded  upon,  so  I 
intreat  ye  to  go  off,  and  whilst  you'r  about  it,  jest  knock 
over  ten  or  a  dozen  of  them  are  boys,"  (tliere  was  a  mess 
of  the  little  wretches  got  on  top  of  the  hill  and  stood  there 
7* 


78  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

a  yelUn'    at    me,    **  coo-coo-doodle-doo,  cluck-cluck-cla- 
cluck." 

"  Well,"  says  he,  **  if  ye'll  show  me  that  are  treshure, 
as  ye  call  it,  I'll  clear  out."  So  I  handid  him  the  toback- 
er  box,  and  arter  lookin'  at  it  a  minnit,  says  he,  *'  I  swan- 
ny  !  I  don't  wonder  ye  cry  when  ye  look  at  it,  for  it's  the 
consairnedest  lookin'  thing  ever  I  see.  What  in  natur'  do 
ye  keep  it  for  ?  " 

I  grabbd  the  box  and  riz  up  without  sayin'  a  word,  and 
walked  oiF  indignations. 

'*  Gurus  cretur,  by  golly,"  says  the  young  man;  then 
he  ketcht  up  a  club  and  took  arter  the  boys,  and  they  all 
run  hootin'  and  bellerin'  down  the  hill,  and  I  didn't  see 
no  more  on  'em.  When  I  arrove  to  hum  I  found  Aunt 
Huldy  beginnin'  to  rigg  for  the  party,  so  I  begun  to  fix 
tew.  And  I'll  tell  ye  how  I  drest ;  I  reckon  I  never  lookt 
equal  to  what  I  did  that  evenin',  in  my  life.  I  put  on  a 
white  spencer  with  short  sleeves  and  blue  ribbins  tied  round 
the  bottom  on  'em,  which  counterasted  finely  with  my 
snowy  arms  ;  then  I  wore  a  yaller  canton  crape  skeart 
with  red  ribbin  loopt  up  all  round  the  bottom  on't,  and  a 
pink  sash  round  my  waist.  My  hair  was  quirld  up  on  the 
tip-top  of  my  head,  and  confined  with  a  dretful  high-toppt 
comb,  (I've  got  it  now,)  and  was  jest  a  guayne  to  put  my 
artifishel  wreath  on  my  head,  when  thinks  me,  I  wonder 
how  Amandy  'd  a  fixed  her  head  on  sich  a  casion.  So  I 
took  the  Childern  of  the  Abby  and  red  v^diere  it  tells  about 
her  guayne  to  Missis  Kilcorban's  ball,  and  I  found  she  had 
on  a  turbin  with  sum  fathers  in't.  So  I  took  my  green 
shawl  with  sprangles  all  over  it  and  wound  it  round  nnd 
round  my  head,  and  stuck  six  black  ostridge  fethers  in't. 
Then  thinks  me,  I  must  put  a  chain  to  Philander's  picter, 


WIDOW  SPRIG GLYS.  79 

as  Amandy  used  to  have  to  her  mother's  —  (wonder  she 
didn't  wear  Lord  Mortimer's,  but  Is'pose  'twas  so  bio-  she 
couldent.)  So  I  took  a  string  of  glass  beads  as  big  as 
bullets,  and  all  the  different  colors  ever  ye  see,  and  fos- 
tened  tlie  box  to  it  and  hung  it  round  my  alagaster  neck. 
Je^t  as  Ll\g  finished  habiliatin,  Aunt  Huldy  cum  in,  and 
says  I,  *'  Aint  ye  struck  with  my  surpassin'  lovliness?" 

*'  Yis,  I  be,"  says  she  ;   "i  never  see  ye  look  so  putty  ; 
but  how  do  I  look?" 

*'  As  well  as  could  be  expected,"  anserd  I,  "from  a  wo- 
man that's  past  the  moridion  of  youthful  facksination." 

*'  Well,  cum  on  then,  if  yer  ready,"  says  she ;  *'  but  we 
must  eat  suthin  afore  we  go,  tho'  I  haint  no  doubt  Missis 
Wilkins '11  have  enuff  stuff  to  eat."  So  we  went  into  the 
kitching  and  aunt  and  uncle  eat  3  or  4  bowls  full  of  butter- 
milk pop,  but  I  dident  eat  but  a  little  mite.  Then  I  put 
on  my  montle  to  kiver  my  clus,  so's  the  folks  wouldn't  be 
starin'  at  my  unresistable  elegance  along  fhe  road,  and  huv 
my  leno  vail  over  my  head  and  we  sot  off.  Well,  we  got  to 
the  place  of  '*  rendyvows,"  and  Aunt  Huldy  and  a  hull  grist 
of  wimmin  that  cum  in  just  behind  us  went  into  the  dress- 
in'-roora  to  take  off  their  things,  but  I  sot  down  by  a  win- 
der in  the  hall,  and  when  the  wimmin  cum  out  to  be  rush- 
ered  into  the  parlor,  Aunt  Huldy  she  spied  me  and  says 
she,  "Why  don't  ye  take  off  yer  montle  and  cum  along?" 
*'  Cause  nater,"  says  I. 

««  Why,"  says  she,  "  they'll  think  queer  on't." 
*<  I  don't  ker  if  they  do,"  says  I ;  ''I  don't  want  to  go 
in  when  everybody  else  does ;  besides,  I  want  to  set  here 
and  ponderate  a  spell  afore  I  plunge  into  the  giddy  whirl- 
fool  of  fluctuation,  where  there  aint  no  bussom  to  partici- 
pate in  my  sorrers  —  nun  but  cold-hearted  strangers  ;  and 


80  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

my  belovedest  fur  away  !  O  let  me  be  !  "  So  she  went 
in  and  I  was  left  alone  to  my  solemcolly  rumlrations.  Ar- 
ter  settin'  there  a  spell  I  heerd  a  noise,  and  purty  soon 
some  folks  begun  to  condescend  —  and  says  one, 

"O  doctor,  I'm  half  frightend  to  death!"  and  says 
another,  "  I'm  skairt  tew.'*  The  door  stood  on  a  jar  and 
they  pusht  it  open  and  went  in.  Arter  they'd  shet  the 
door  thinks  me,  it's  time  for  fee  to  make  my  debutte.  So 
I  took  off  my  montle,  agested  my  fethers,  and  so  forth,  and 
opend  the  door,  and  lo  and  behold,  the  minister  was  a 
prayin'  —  thinks  me,  I  wonder  if  they  always  begin  their 
parties  here  with  prayin' ;  but  I  dident  ker.  So  I  recoverd 
my  composher,  and  with  my  natral  elegance  walkt  up  the 
room,*  and  there  was  a  gineral  buz  of  admireation  as  I 
stept  along,  and  seein'  a  sofy  at  the  upper  eend  of  the 
room  and  a  row  of  folks  standin'  up  afore  it  I  went  along 
and  s-quoze  into  one  eend  on't.  Missis  Wilkins  was  standin' 
nigh  by  and  she  reacht  out  and  gin  me  a  twitch  and  says 
she,  *'  Miss  Ruggles,  you've  got  the  bridesmaid's  seat." 

'*  The  dragon  !  "  says  I  —  and  I  gin  a  spring  and  jumpt 
clear  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  everybody  stared  at 
me  to  kill.  I  tell  ye  I  was  considerable  flustrated.  So  I 
sot  down  in  a  cheer  and  put  my  fan  up  afore  my  face,  and 
I  guess  I  kept  It  there  a  spell.  Byrne  by  the  minister  got 
done  prayin'  and  begun  marryin'  of  'era  and  thinks  me, 
I'll  giv  a  look  and  see  who  'tis.  So  I  lookt  up  and  my 
wonderation  can  be  better  imagginated  than  discribed, 
when  I  see  Dr.  Davis  a  standin*  there  holdin'  holt  of  Mary 
Ann  Wllklnses  hand  !  Never  in  my  born  days  was  I  half 
supprised  as  I  was  that  minnit ;   but  I  knowd  that  Davis 

*ChUdreu  of  the  Abby,  chap.  20. 


WIDOW  SrEIGGINS.  81 

had  jest  did  it  out  of  spite  cause  I  wouldent  have  him. 
There  was  tew  bridesmaids  and  tew  groomsmen,  but  I 
dident  know  ary  one  on  'em  —  but  one  of  the  groomsmen 
lookt  eny  most  egzactly  like  Philander,  ony  he  hadent  no 
whiskers.  Purty  soon  the  serrymony  was  over,  and  they 
begun  to  lead  up  the  folks  to  kiss  Mary  Ann,  and  jest  then 
sumbody  gin  me  a  hunch  on  my  elbow,  and  I  lookt,  and 
lo  and  behold,  'twas  the  yaller-headed  young  man  that 
ontied  the  dead  hen,  and  thinks  me,  he's  a  takin'  arter  me 
jest  as  Sir  Charles  Bingley  did  arter  Amandy,  and  I  must 
treat  him  decent  as  she  did  him  —  tho'  I  can't  incurrido-e 

o 

him. 

"  Good  evenin'  to  ye.  Miss  Ruggles,"  says  he. 

"  Good  evenin'.  Sir  Charles,"  says  I. 

**  Golly  ! "  says  he,  *'  that  aint  my  name." 

«'  Aint, hay?"  says  I. 

"No!"  says  he,  "my  name's  Jabez  Spriggins  —  I 
teach  the  deestreckt  school  up  here." 

"  Do,  hay?"  says  I. 

*'  You  look  amazin'  honsome  to-night,"  continuyd  he. 

"  O  law!"  says  I,  "  mabby  you  think  so;  and  you 
don't  look  much  as  ye  did  this  arternoon."  No  more  he 
dident  —  he  had  on  a  long  tailed  pepper  and  salt  summer 
coat,  thunder  and  lightnin'  jackit,  and  streeked  trowsers. 
Then  he  had  sich  a  master  wide  ruffle  to  his  shirt  with  a 
wonderful  big  breast-pin  stuck  on't  —  and  his  hair  was 
tailored  as  stiiF  as  all  nater,  and  hysted  up  to  a  peak  aforo 
much  as  a  foot  high.     He  raly  lookt  surprisin'  well. 

**  Now,"  says  I,  '*  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  who  that  are  is 
that  looks  so  much  like  Philander  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  ye  mean,"  says  he. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  who's  that  are  feller  that's  leadln'  up 
Californy  Coon?" 


\ 


S2  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

Says  he,  ^^  That's  Dick  Johnson,  he  goes  to  Hamilton 
Collidge.  His  payrents  lives  to  the  eastard,  and  he's  ben 
hum  spendin'  the  vocation.  He  stopt  here  on  his  way  back 
to  collidge  so's  to  be  groomsman  —  he's  a  piirty  wild  chap. 
That  are  short  feller  that's  Wadin'  up  Lorindy  Rickets  is  Bill 
Johnson,  another  collidge  feller,  and  that  are  one  with 
curly  hair  is  Sam  Wilkins,  the  bride's  brother  —  he's 
mighty  perlite  to  Grashioshy  Hawkins,  but  he  keeps  a 
lookin'  at  you  neverstandin'." 

*'  Well,"  says  I,  '*  I  wish  you'd  introduct  me  to  John- 
son, for  he  looks  so  much  like  Philander  I  want  to  get 
acquaintid  with  him." 

*'  Who  in  the  name  o'  nater  is  Philander?  "  says  Sprig- 
gins,  says  he. 

*'  This  ere's  him,"  says  I,  hawlin'  out  the  tobacker  box. 
But  whilst  I  was  a  hawlin'  it  out  the  string  broke  and  the 
box  rolld  right  in  amonkst  a  mess  of  folks  that  was  a 
standin'  round  the  bride. 

''Hullo!"  says  Loisy  Hocus,  '' suthin'  cum  buntin' 
agin  my  foot."  I  jumpt  up  and  run,  Spriggins  he  follerd, 
but  afore  I  could  git  it  Josh  Jones  (Dr.  Davises  student, 
a  rael  mean  feller)   pickt  it  up. 

**  Here  —  giv  that  are  up  !  "  says  I,  **  It's  mine." 

*'  Giv  that  are  up,"  says  Spriggins,  <*  it's  Miss  Rug- 
gleses." 

'*  Good  landy  !  "  says  Missis  Hawkins,  *'  I  want  to 
know  if  you  chaw  tobacker  ?  " 

*' No,  I  don't,"  anserd  I,  *'that  are  box  has  got  a 
treshur  in't,  so  jest  gin  it  up." 

' '  Do  for  grammany's  sake  open  it  and  see  what's  in't," 
says  Missis  Hawkins,  (she  spited  me  on  account  of  the 
chastigation  I  gin  Hepsy.)      So  Jones  he  hawld  it  out  and 


win  0  W  SPEIG  GINS.  8  3 

begun  to  holler  and  lafF  at  it  and  was  jest  a  guayne  to  hand 
it  round  when  Johnson  he  ketcht  it  away  from  him  and 
without  ever  lookin'  at  it  gin  it  to  me. 

"  Ten  thousand  million  thanks,"  jackleatcd  I,  *'  I  might 
a  knowd  that  anybody  that  lookt  so  much  like  Philander 
in  face  and  figger  couldent  help  resemblin'  of  him  in  nobli- 
tude  of  mind."  Johnson's  face  turnd  as  red  as  fire.  I 
spose  he  felt  dashed  to  be  praised  up  by  sich  an  interestin' 
bein'  as  I  was. 

"Now,"  says  I,  '*I  wish  sumbody'd  recoverate  my 
box." 

So  Johnson  he  rummaged  round  and  found  it  and  gin 
it  to  me,  and  I  put  the  profyle  into't  and  stufft  it  under  my 
sash,  and  went  and  sot  down  in  a  cheer  at  the  furder  eend 
of  the  room.  Purty  soon  Spriggins  cum  up  with  the  three 
fellers  and  says  he, 

"I've  brung  these  ere  young  men  for  to  introduct  'em 
to  ye  —  this  ere's  Mr.  Johnson,  Miss  Ruggles  —  this  ere's 
Mr.  Tomson,  and  this  ere's  Mr.  Wilkins." 

"  Yer  sairvent,  gentlemen,"  says  I,  rizin'  and  makin'  a 
low  curchy. 

"  Have  you  ben  up  to  slute  the  bride  !  "  says  Johnson. 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  I  guess  taint  best  —  ittle  ony  make  the 
doctor  feel  bad."  Sa  they  all  drawd  up  cheers  and  sot 
down  round  me.  *'  Don't  be  supprised  Mr.  Johnson," 
says  I,  "  if  I  stare  at  ye  considerable,  for  you  do  look 
amazinly  like  sumbody  I  know." 

"  O  stare  as  much  as  ye  please,"  says  he,  "I  like  to  be 
lookt  at  by  the  ladies." 

**  O  my  conscience  !  "  says  Tomson,  "  Pd  giv  all  my 
old  shoes  to  obtain  sich  a  felickity  as  Johnson  enjoys  under 
the  sunbeams  of  them  electrifyin'  gorbs  !  " 


84  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

**  So  would  I,"  says  Willdns,  syin'. 

Jest  then  the  cake  and  stuff  cum  round  to  me  and  John- 
son took  off  a  gret  hunk  and  put  it  on  a  plate  and  gin  it 
to  me. 

"  GrandffUher  grievous  !"  says  I,   "  you  don't  suspect 
me  to  eat  all  that  are,  I  hope." 
.    "  To  be  sure,"  says  he. 

<'  Why  lay  to't,"  says  Spriggins,  '*  't won't  hurt  ye  nun." 

<*  I  shan't  do't,"  says  I,  '*  I  don't  scerce  ever  eat  any- 
thing, and  han't  no  casion  now." 

*'  Well,  you'll  take  sum  of  the  egg-nogg,  won't  ye!" 
says  Spriggins,  hollerin'  at  the  same  time  to  a  nigger 
wench  that  was  carryin'  round  a  server  full  of  suthin'  to 
drink. 

"  These  ere  timbles  aint  fall  enuiF,"  says  Spriggins,  so 
he  emptied  tew  on  'em  together  and  handed  it  to  me. 
Everybody  in  the  room  was  lookin'  at  us  —  pertickleely  at 
me.  So  says  I,  purty  loud,  '*  I  tell  ye  I  hant  no  casion." 
Uncle  Jonah  he  was  clear  acrost  the  room  and  he  hollered 
out, 

"Don't  tease  Milly  to  let  into  the  vittals  and  drink; 
she's  right  when  she  says  she  han't  no  casion,  foi^  she  eat 
dretful  hearty  of  buttermilk  pop  jest  afore  we  cum,  and 
if  she  takes  down  all  that  are  stuff  she'll  sairtin  be  sick 
abed." 

''  Gracious  ! "  says  I,  **  that  are's  the  everlastinest  lie  I 
ever  heerd  in  my  life." 

**  So  'tis,"  says  Aunt  Huldy.  **  She  ony  eat  tew  bowls 
full  afore  we  cum." 

I  tell  ye  it  did  seem  as  if  I  should  ixpire.  '*  O  niisery 
mc  !  "  exclamigated  I,  *'  I  shall  faint  away  —  do  lead  me 
out  into  the  hall."  So  Johnson  he  took  holt  of  one  lam  and 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  85 

Tomson  he  took  holt  of  t'other  and  Wilkhis  he  took  my 
fan  and  blowd  me,  and  Sprigglns  he  fullered  arter  groanin' 
consairnedly  —  half  scart  out  of  his  wits.  And  whilst 
they  was  a  takin'  of  me  out  —  my  head  hangin'  over  on 
Johnson's  sholder  —  my  fethers  fell  out  of  my  turbin,  and 
says  I,  "  Sumbody  jest  pick  up  them  are  ostridge  fethers 
afore  they  git  stompt  on." 

**  I  vanny  she  aint  ftiint,"  says  Missis  Hawkins. 

**  I  be  faint  tew,"  says  I.  So  they  took  me  into  the 
hall  and  sot  me  down  on  the  stairs,  and  sum  on  'em  blowd 
me  and  sum  on  'em  stufFt  smelKn'  bottles  up  my  nose.  Dr. 
Davis  he  felt  of  my  pulse  and  his  hand  trembled  dretfully, 
and  tho'  my  eyes  was  shot  I  could  tell  that  he  was  dret- 
fully aggitated.  Purty  soon  Jones  (mean  crittur)  he  took 
and  stuiFt  a  nastyfetity  pill  down  my  mouth  and  made  me 
as  sick  as  a  dog.  So  then  I  cum  tew,  and  I  riz  up  and 
says  I,  "  I  think  I've  had  about  eny  most  enufF  trouble  for 
one  evenin',  but  I  don't  ker,  I  han't  had  no  more'n  Amandy 
had  to  Miss  Kilcorban's  ball,  and  I  know't  if  my  beauty 
and  merits  was  less  conspiccious,  I  should  escaped  it,*  and 
if  sumbody  '11  have  the  carridge  drew  up  I'll  return  to 
Castle  Jorrocks." 

**  Bless  yer  gizzard,"  says  Aunt  Huldy,  **  don't  ye  know 
we  cum  afoot  ?  " 

"  Well,"  says  Spriggins,  '*  I'll  go  hum  and  git  our 
waggin  if  Missis  Wilkins  will  let  her  nigger  boy  drive  ye 
hum." 

Wilkins  said,  *'  sairtinly."  So  Spriggins  went  hum  and 
putty  soon  he  cum  back  with  his  bosses  and  waggin,  and 
Johnson  and  Tomson  and  Wilkins  they  helpt  me  git  reddy, 

*  Childern  of  the  Abby,  chap.  20. 


8  6  Win  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

and  then  Sprlggins  he  went  out  to  the  waggin  and  helpt 
me  In,  and  says  he,  "I  shan't  stay  much  longer  now 
you've  gone,  for  there  aint  a  young  woman  here  I  care 
teppence  for  but  you,  and  Ide  go  clear  hum  with  ye  if  it 
want  for  stayin'  to  git  sum  of  that  are  egg-nogg  —  but  I'll 
stop  and  see  ye  to-morrer  when  I  go  hum  from  school,  if 
you're  willin'."  Thinks  me,  if  he'd  a  lefF  out  what  he  said 
about  the  egg-nogg  and  guayne  to  school  'twould  a  ben 
jest  like  what  Sir  Charles  Bingley  said  to  Amandy  when 
she  was  guayne  away  from  Missis  Kilcorban's  ball.  So  I 
giv  him  permission  jest  as  Amandy  did  Sir  Charles  and 
then  the  driver  druv  off;  and  'twas  a  gret  big  flamber- 
gasted  lumber  waggin  and  it  jolted  most  consalrnedly,  and 
I  got  knockt  round  from  one  side  to  t'other,  and  once  in  a 
while  I  boundid  up  much  as  three  or  four  foot  Into  the  air, 
and  I  tell  ye  I  was  all  but  did  over  when  I  got  hum.  I 
retired  immejuntly  to  my  compartment,  and  huv  myself 
down  In  a  cheer  by  the  winder,  jest  as  Amandy  did.  The 
woods,  slivered  by  the  beams  of  the  moon  that  rode  mojes- 
tic  in  the  furmanent  of  stars,  recalled  to  my  remeraberatlon 
the  vows  of  unchanngable  regard  that  had  ben  utterated 
there,  so  I  took  my  pencil  and  writ  the  follerin'  poetical 
confusion  :  — 


Good  gracious  I   good  gracious  I    I'm  siukia'  witli  sorrer, 

My  sperrits  is  low  and  my  heart's  full  of  horror, 

The  rcndyvows  joyful  of  gay  dissipation 

Aint  no  placp  for  me  in  my  sad  sittyation. 

And  when  I'm  alone  I  lament  and  take  on 

Because  my  Pliilander's  departed  and  gone. 

The  men  is  all  Byin'  and  dyin'  about  me, 

And  declarin'  and  vowin'  they  can't  live  without  me. 

But  if  they  pursue  me  from  mornin'  to  night 

My  darlin'  Philander  I  never  will  slight, 


WIDOW  SPRIGGINS.  87 

My  dearest  — my  slickest  — my  lovedest  hao  went, 
Fur  — fur  —  from  Permilly  his  steps  he  has  bent. 
His  profile  is  all  that  is  left  for  to  cheer, 
0  1   grandfather  grievous  I    I  wish  he  was  here.* 

Arter  a  spell  Aunt  Huldy  cum  hum,  and  she  cum  In  to 
see  how  I  did  —  she  had  her  work-pockit  crammin'  full  of 
cake. 

**  O  aunt,"  says  I,  "  how  could  ye  be  so  onfeelln'  as  to 
say  I  eat  tew  bowls  full  of  buttermilk  pop  ?  " 

**  Cause,  ye  did,"  says  she,  **  and  I'm  sure  'taint  much 
for  a  hearty  young  woman  to  eat,  but  I'm  sorry  I  telld 
on't,  seeln'  ye  feel  so  bad  about  it ;  so  you  jest  eat  a  hunk 
of  this  ere  cake,  mabby  ittle  chirk  ye  up." 

So  I  took  ruther  a  small  sized  hunk  and  eat  it,  and 
Aunt  Huldy  she  went  out  —  and  then  fatigewd  and  distrest 
I  huv  off  my  splendid  habileations,  flung  myself  on  my 
couch  and  arter  a  spell  closed  my  tearful  gorbs  in  a  re- 
freshin'  and  recomposin'  slumber. 

*Thi8  was  arterwards  printed  in  the  "  Podunk  Illuminator," 


8  8  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  roosters  was  crowin'  to  wake  up  the  folks, 
The  sun  was  beginnia'  to  shine  overhead, 

A.nd  dry  up  the  dews  that  besprangled  the  oaks, 
When  the  lovely  Permilly  got  out  of  her  bed. 

Me. 


HE  mornin'  arter  the  weddin'  I  got  up  the  minnit  I 
waked,  cause  Jabez  Spriggins  was  a  guayne  to 
call  on  me  on  his  way  to  school,  and  his  school 
begun  airlier'n  mine  —  so  I  hurried  and  drest  me 
afore  breckfust  —  I  drest  very  plain  that  mornin'  —  dident 
put  no  riggin'  whatsoever  on  my  head,  but  I  let  my  hair 
in  its  own  natyve  and  glossy  hue  float  over  my  sholders,* 
but  I  couldent  make  it  quirl  nun  to  save  my  gizzard, 
though  I  put  it  up  in  papers,  and  tin,  and  everything  else  ; 
and  I  wondered,  and  do  yit,  what  made  Amandy's  hair  al- 
ways hang  in  graceful  stringlets  over  her  sholders  ;  but  I 
was  detairmined  Ide  let  mine  hang  down  for  once  whether 
or  no.  Then  I  put  on  my  blue  calicer  long-short,  with  a 
yaller  skirt  under  it,  hung  my  watch  round  my  neck,  and 
was  just  a  guayne  to  put  Philander  in  my  pocket,  when 
thinks  me.  He  look  at  it  fust.  So  I  opened  the  box,  and 
lo  and  behold,  the  picter  was  intirely  rubbed  out  — they'd 
fingerd  it  so  much  the  night  afore  to  Missis  Wilkinscs. 
So  I  took  a  pen  and  draw'd  it  over  agin  as  nigh  like  t'other 

*Childern  of  the  Ahby. 


WIDOW  SPEW  GINS.  89 

as  I  could.  Jest  as  Ide  got  it  draw'd,  Aunt  Huldy  cum  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  hollerd  to  me  to  cum  to  breck- 
fust.  So  I  condescended  down,  and  as  soon  as  ever  Uncle 
Jonah  see  me,  says  he,  — 

*'  Land  o'  liberty  !  Permilly,  what  in  the  name  of  nater 
have  ye  got  yer  hair  all  raked  down  so  for  ?  it  looks  like 
the  dragon  I " 

*'It  don't  nyther^"  says  Aunt  Huldy,  says  she,  "it 
looks  jest  like  the  young  wimmiu's  in  the  novels  —  so  you 
jest  hold  yer  jaw." 

*'  Well,"  says  I,  *'  I  don't  ker  what  nobody  says  about 
it ;  for  it's  fixed  putty  much  as  Amandy  did  hern,  and  she 
knowd  what  was  what,  and  I  don't  think  men  has  any  biz- 
ness  to  meddle  with  wimmin's  dress,  specially  them  that 
don't  know  nothin'  about  nothin'." 

"I  vum  ! "  says  Uncle  Jonah,  says  he>  *<  Permilly 's 
ruther  warm  —  wife,  can't  ye  give  her  a  little  buttermilk 
pop  to  cool  her  off?  " 

**  Nun  of  yer  sarce  about  buttermilk  pop,"  says  Aunt 
Huldy  —  so  sayin',  she  gin  him  a  grip,  but  he  deluded  her 
grasp,  and  grabbin'  a  hunk  of  short  cake  he  cut  out 
doors,  and  then  he  stuck  his  head  into  the  winder,  and 
says  he,  — 

' '  Ye  better  both  on  ye  take  a  chaw  of  tobacker  out  of 
Milly's  box.  I  reckon  ittle  callumyer  minds."  So  sayin' 
he  run  off,  and  says  aunt,  says  she,  "  That  are's  the  pro- 
vokinest  creetur  ever  I  see,  and  the  wost  on't  is  he  never 
gits  mad.  I  wish  I  had  a  little  of  Missis  Peabody's  grit. 
I  tell  ye  I'd  stir  him  up  then  —  he  wouldn't  darst  to  pester 
me  so."  Jest  then  I  looked  up  and  see  Spriggins  a  cum- 
min' over  the  hill.      *'  There  !  "  says  I,   <*  he's  a  cummin'." 

Aunt  Huldy  she  lookt  out  and  says  she,  "  O,  that  are's 
8* 


90  WIDOW  SPRIGOmS. 

Jabez  Spriggins ;  and  cum  to  think  on't,  seems  to  me  he 
took  a  master  shine  to  you  last  night." 

"  I  know  it,"  says  I,  "  and  I  don't  know  wliat  to  do 
with  the  creetur  ;  Amandy  always  used  Sir  Charles  Bingly 
well,  but  when  she  wouldent  have  him  he  eeny  most 
died." 

*'  Good  landy  !  "  says  Aunt  Huldy,  "  you  don't  mean  to 
sairve  him  so  I  hope.  He's  a  nice  stiddy  young  man  as 
ever  was,  and  his  father's  got  a  rael  productyve  farm,  and 
nary  child  in  the  world  ony  Jabez,  and  his  payrents  set  a 
nation  store  by  him  —  he's  always  ben  a  master  hand  to 
study  —  ben  to  school  evry  winter  till  he's  got  to  be  the 
best  arithmeticker  in  town  —  and  now  he  keeps  the  dees- 
trict  school,  and  I  tell  ye  what,  ye  can't  do  better'n  to 
take  him  if  he  axes  ye,  but  good  now  !  I  wonder  if  he 
haint  sfot  a  dead  creetur  tied  to  him." 

*' Yer  granny's  a  dead  creetur  as  much!"  says  I, 
*'why,  them  are's  my  ostridge  fethers  stickin' out  of  his 
pocket." 

Putty  soon  he  began  knockin'  to  the  door.  **  You  go 
to  the  door,"  says  Aunt  Huldy,  "you  look  slicker'n  I 
do." 

"  No,  no,"  says  I,  *'  that  aint  accordin'  to  etiquit  — 
you  go,  and  when  he  axes  for  me,  you  cum  out  and  call 
me."  So  she  went  and  rushered  him  in,  and  arter  a  spell 
says  he,  '*  Where's  that  are  young  woman  that's  here?" 
I  was  a  waitin'  in  the  kitching,  and  aunt  she  screamed  out 
and  says  she,  *'  Hullo,  Milly  !  he's  axed  arter  ye."  I  was 
kinder  mad  to  hear  her  up  and  yell  so,  but  I  went  in,  and 
arter  we'd  sluted  one  another,  says  aunt  says  she,  *'  Did  I 
do  that  accordin'  to  gunter  ?  " 

**  No  I  "  says  I,  *'  you'd  orto  come  out  and  called  me 
instid  of  hollerin'  at  me  so  consairnedly." 


WW  0  W  SPniG  GINS.  9 1 

''  Well,"  says  she,  *'  I'll  know  how  next  time."  Then 
she  went  out,  and  says  I  to  Sprlgglns,  "  Well,  how  did 
ye  enjoy  yerself  last  night  arter  my  departer?  " 

''  O,  middlin',"  says  he,  "I  got  a  putty  good  chance  at 
the  egg-nogg  and  stuff —  but  I  don't  like  to  see  folks  act 
as  they  did.  Arter  the  old  people  went  hum  the  young 
folks  carried  on  like  sixty.  The  fellers  they  got  yer  os- 
trldge  fethers  and  stuck  'em  behind  then-  ears,  and  caperd 
round  and  hollered,  '  Hooraw  for  the  pink  of  Podwik  1 ' 
and  the  bride  said  she  thought  you'd  or'to  teach  faintin' 
away  in  your  simlnary,  and  the  gearls  all  on  'em  did  act 
consairnedly.  I  tried  ever  so  long  to  git  yer  fethers,  and 
couldn't.  At  last  Johnson  took  'em  and  laid  'em  on  the 
table,  and  as  soon  as  I  got  a  chance  I  ketcht'  'em  unbe- 
known to  nobody  and  cum  off." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  *'  Pm  unexpresslbly  obleejed  to  ye  for 
dooin'  on't  —  but  I  don't  ker  teppence  for  what  the  gearls 
said,  for  I  know  'twa'nt  nothin'  but  envye  —  but  them  are 
students,  I  raly  think  'twas  strannge  they  should  act  so, 
seein'  they  was  so  took  with  me." 

*'  I  wish  every  one  on  'em  was  lickt,"  says  Spriggins. 
**  As  I  was  comin'  by  there  this  mornin',"  contlnyd  he,  "  I 
see  'em  all  a  standin'  round  Davises  office  door,  and  I  was 
a  goin'  straight  by,  but  Tomson  he  yell'd  out  and  says  he, 
*  Hullo,  Jonathan  !  where  ye  guayne?'  Wilkins  he  gin 
him  a  hunch,  and  says  he,  *  Why,  Tomson,  that's  Mr. 
Spriggins  that  you  saw  last  night.'  *  Ah  !  '  says  Tom- 
son, *  excuse  me,  Mr.  Spriggins,  I  thought  'twas  an  old 
acquaintance  of  mine.'  '  O  ho  !  '  says  Johnson,  '  I  see 
you've  got  Miss  Ruggleses  fethers  in  yer  pocket.'  *  Yis,' 
says  I,  '  and  I'm  a  guayne  to  carry  'em  to  her  —  she's  a 
mazin'  putty  young  woman  accordin'  to  my  notion.'     *  So 


9  2  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

she  is,'  says  they  —  *  but,'  says  Jones,  *  you  mustent  tell 
her  how  we  acted  last  night.'     '  I  will,  by  gosh,'  says  I. 

*  O  don't,'  says  Johnson,  '  we  only  frisked  round  a  little 
with  her  fethers  to  please  the  ladles,  you  know  they're  all 
jealous  of  Miss  Ruggles  'cause  she's  so  honsome  and  in- 
terestin'  —  don't  tell  her.'  'I  will,  I  swonny,' says  I. 
'  Well,  then,'  says  Tomson,  'tell  her  and  be  darned  to  ye 

—  we're  all  a  guayne  to  see  her  this  evenin'  for  we've  all 
fell  in  love  with  her  —  and  we'll  convince  her  to  the  con- 
terary.'     Then  I  cum  off,  and  Johnson  he  hollered  to  me, 

*  Take  care  how  you  take  arter  her  if  you  don't  want  to 
fight  a  duel  with  us.'  '  Golly  ! '  says  I,  «  do  you  think  ye 
can  all  on  ye  git  her  ? '  and  whilst  I  was  a  cummin'  along 
thinks  me,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  won't  up  and  ax  her  to  have 
nie  —  and  I  tell  ye  what,  Miss  Kuggles  —  I  aint  a  jokin' 
when  I  say  I  set  more  by  ye  and  like  ye  better'n  ary 
young  woman  ever  I  knowd  —  for  I  took  a  notion  to  ye 
the  very  day  I  fust  see  ye,  when  I  ontied  the  dead  hen, 
and  if  you'll  have  me  I'll  have  you,  and  we'll  have  one 
another.     What  do  ye  say  to't  ?  " 

'*  Grandfer  Griffin  !  "  says  I,  "is  that  are  the  way  you 
prepose  yerself  ?  " 

'*  Why,"  says  he,  *'  ain't  that  are  the  right  way?  " 
**  I've  got  as  gret  a  mind,"  says  I,  '*  as  ever  I  had  to 
eat — -no  —  as  ever  I  had  not  to  eat,  to  go  right  strait 
off  out  of  your  socierty  without  dainin'  to  give  ye  any  an- 
ser  —  but  seein'  you've  did  me  tew  or  three  good  turns, 
and  as  I  intertain  o.  gret  steem  for  yer  caracter  I  won't  do't 

—  and  here's  the  Chlldern  of  the  Abby,  the  book  I  prom- 
ised to  lend  ye,  and  do  ye  take  it  hum  and  pruse  it  atten- 
tyvely,  specially  the  8th  chapter,  fust  voUum,  and  there 
ye'll  lairn  how  to  offer   yer    hand   and  heart  —  and  arter 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  93 

you've  lairnt  how  ye  may  cum  and  ax  me  agin  if  yer  a 
mind  tew  —  my  astonishment  that  you  sho'd  have  the  au- 
dackity  to  take  arter  me  is  only  exceeded  by  my  surprise, 
and  I  sha'n't  say  yes  nor  no  to  yer  supposition  till  ye  lairn 
to  promulgate  it  better."  So  sayin'  I  riz  up  to  go  out, 
and  jest  as  I  got  to  the  door  says  Spriggins,  says  he, 
*'  Stop  a  minnit."  So  I  stopt,  and  says  he,  "As  fur  as 
I  can  understand  what  you've  jpen  a  sayin*,  I  take  it  ye 
won't  be  put  out  if  I  cum  to  see  ye  once  in  a  while  whilst 
I'm  read  in'  this  ere  book." 

**  O  no  !  "  says  I,  ''  Amandy  always  treated  Sir  Charles 
Bingley  with  the  greatest  condcscention  —  so  I  give  ye 
permission  to  cum."  So  sayin'  I  walkt  out  of  the  room 
as  stiff  as  stillyards,  and  went  up  into  my  chomber  and  as 
I  lookt  out  of  the  winder  I  see  Spriggins  guayne  over  the 
hill  readin'  in  the  Childern  of  the  Abby  as  he  went. 

Lookin'  at  my  watch  I  see  it  lacked  a  half  an  hour  to 
school  time,  so  I  sot  down  and  writ  with  amazin'  rappid- 
dity  the  follerin'  stanzys  :  — 

TO  JABEZ  SPRIGGINS. 

Alas,  poor  swine,*  with  yaller  hair, 
I'm  sorry  for  ye,  I  declare  ; 
I  hate  to  slight  ye,  but  I  must, 
Tho'  I'm  afeard  yer  heart  will  bust. 

0  gracious  I  how  you'll  rip  and  swear, 
And  mabby  cry  and  tear  yer  hair, 
And  cuss  the  fatal  minnit  when 
You  met  me  with  the  old  dead  hen. 

1  can't  be  yourn  5  this  heart  of  mine 
Is  plighted  to  another  swine  ; 
And  them  besides  that  git  besmitten. 
Must  all  expect  to  git  the  mitten. 

*  Swain. 


94  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

O,  if  I  had  a  thousand  hearts, 
They'd  all  be  full  of  Cupid's  darts, 
And  evry  single  dart  would  be 
Fired  from  tlic  eyes  of  my  dear  P. 

So,  poor  young  man  with  yaller  hair, 
Giv  up  and  die  in  grum  despair, 
Set  down  and  sythe  and  weep  and  mourn, 
Permilly  never  can  be  yourn. 

I  never  showed  that  are  to  Spriggins  till  arter but 

I  won't  antlckipate.  Arter  'twas  writ  I  went  to  school  — 
but  I  guess  lie  discontinny,  and  tell  what  concurred  that 
day  going  tew  and  from  my  siminary  in  another  chopter. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

'  On  pranced  the  gallant  steed. 

Proud  of  the  heft  he  bore. 
O'er  hill  and  vale  and  flowery  meed 
Unto  the  castle  door."  Spkiggins  Misselany. 


ELL,  I  went  and  put  up  my  dinner  and  put  on  my 
things,  and  as  'twas  a  dretful  cloudy  mornin' I 
reckoned  Ide  take  an  umbril  —  so  I  went  and  axed 
Auntlluldy  to  lend  me  thairn  ;  but  she  said  'twas 
a  new  one  and  as  it  looked  like  for  rain  she  guesst  I  hadent 
better  take  it  for  she  dident  want  to  have  it  git  wet,  —  so  I 
went  witliout  none  ;  but  afore  Ide  got  half  way  there  it 
begun  to  rain  consairnedly,  and  seein'  Dr.  Davises  office 
door  open  I  run  in  there,  and  there  was  all  them  fellers 


WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS.  9  5 

and  you  never  see  sich  a  fluster  as  they  made  when  I  cum 
in,  and  I  must  a  lookt  amazin'  interestin'  with  my  hair  all 
beshovelled,  and  my  habileations  drippin'  with  moister. 
*'0  dear  me  suz,  gentlemen,"  says  I,  "I've  got  ketcht 
in  a  shower,  and  if  ye'll  lend  me  an  umbril  I'll  be  obleejed 
to  ye."  So  they  all  jumpt  to  git  it  and  then  they  had 
a  tussle  which  sho'd  accompanate  me  —  evry  one  on 
'em  wanted  to  go.  At  last  says  Jones  (the  doctor's 
student)  says  he,  *' Let  Miss  Ruggles  take  her  choice." 
"  Agreed,"  says  they.  So  says  I,  "  I  can  git  along  well 
enough  without  nobody,  but  seein'  ye're  so  anxious  to  go 
with  me  He  choose  Mr.  Johnson."  When  I  said  this  the 
other  fellers  ript  out  a  mess  of  wicked  swearin'  words,  and 
shook  their  fists  at  Johnson.  "  No W; gentlemen,"  says  I, 
"  I  boseech  on  ye  not  to  fight  a  duil  with  the  favored  swine, 
for  I  set  store  by  all  on  ye,  ony  I  admire  Mr.  Johnson  be- 
cause he  resembleates  my  Philander  so  much."  So  Johnson 
he  gin  me  his  arm  and  we  started,  when  Jones  up  and  says 
he,  "  Miss  Kuggles  will  get  her  long-short  as  wet  as  muck 
-^  He  jest  bring  my  surtoot  and  let  her  put  it  on."  So  he 
run  and  brung  his  surtoot.  That  Jones  want  a  very  putty 
appearin'  young  man,  and  I  was  real  pervoked  at  him  for 
givin'  me  the  nastyfettity  pill  at  the  weddin'  —  but  when 
lie  was  so  consairned  about  me  as  for  to  ofifer  me  his  sur- 
toot, thinks  me.  He  surmount  my  nantlpathy  to  him.  So 
they  all  helpt  me  on  with  it  and  Johnson  he  buttoned  it 
round  me.  "Now,"  says  I,  "what's  to  be  did?  it's  a 
master  sight  too  long."  Jones  was  wonderful  tall,  and  his 
surtoot  was  a  turrible  long  drab  one  with  a  number  of  capes 
sich  as  they  wore  in  them  days,  and  I  was  oncommon  short 
and  fairy-like  in  my  figger. 

"  He  tell  ye  what,"  says  WilkinSj  "  He  go  behind  and 
hold  it  up." 


96  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

"  O  no,  let  me,"  says  Tomson. 

"  N'ow,  genflemen,"  says  I,  "  if  it's  so  desirable  to  go 
long  of  me,  s'pose  one  of  ye  holds  up  each  skeart." 

''Thattle  be  charmin',"  says  VYilkins.  So  they  took 
holt,  and  we  sot  off,  and  Jones  he  stood  in  the  door,  and 
lookt  at  us.  Whilst  he  was  guayne  along,  says  Johnson 
says  he,  **  O  !  the  deliglitsome  gratifaction  of  shelterin'  the 
most  beautifuUest  of  created  creeturs  from  this  outragin' 
storm!"  "Ah,  it's  exquizzitte ! "  says  Tomson.  "It's 
the  squintessence  of  pleasure,"  says  Wilkins.  And  sich 
like  ixpressions  they  made  all  along. 

Putty  soon  we  arrove  to  the  deacon's,  and  bein'  quite 
late  the  scholars  liad  all  cum  and  sum  on  'em  was  lookiu' 
out  of  the  winders,  and  when  they  see  us  they  hulloed  to 
t 'others  and  they  all  run  to  the  winders  to  look  at  us,  and 
ye  never  heerd  sich  a  roarin'  as  they  sot  up  in  yer  born 
daj^s ;  and  when  we  got  into  the  house  they  all  cum  out  on 
the  stairs  to  see  us  —  I  tell  ye  I  was  awful  mad  to  see  'em 
so  un respectful,  and  I  should  a  let  right  into  'em  and 
knockt  over  a  few  if  I  hadent  a  concludid  to  change  ray 
monner  of  teachin'  a  little,  —  for  that  mornin'  wlnlst  I  was 
a  dressin'  I  happen'd  to  think  how't  I'd  orto  look  into  the 
Childern  of  the  Abby  to  see  how  Amandy  managed  her 
school  —  for  Ide  forgot,  that  bein'  a  part  of  the  novil  not 
very  interestin'  to  me ;  so  I  stopt  in  the  midst  of  my  twi- 
light and  read  about  it  —  and  it  said  she  never  jaw'd  'em 
nor  chasigated  'em,  but  let  'em  do  jest  as  they  was  a  mind 
to.  So  I  of  course  detairmined  to  do  so  tew.  Well,  the 
young  men  resisted  me  to  take  off  the  surtoot,  and  whilst 
they  was  doin'  on't,  I  see  Amarilly  Peabody,  the  deacon's 
oldest  dorter,  and  Polly  Marlar  Dawson,  (a  couscn  of  hern 
visitin'    there,)    a  peekin'  through  a  door  and  laffin  dis- 


Widow  Spriggins   faints   away,  and  resuscitation   is   attempted  by 
Doctor  Davis.— See  2mge  85. 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  97 

tractidly  —  I  s'pose  they  was  dretful  jelous.  O  !  what  a 
tumble  thing  jelousy  is  !  It  distils  pison  into  the  most 
secret  and  unbeknown  recessions  of  the  heart,  —  it  discom- 
j^oses  and  frusterates  the  finest  affections  of  natur',  and 
scatters  the  firebrands  of  confusion  and  purgatory  through- 
out socierty. 

Arter  I  was  disbegaged  from  the  surtoot,  says  Johnson 
says  he,   "  If  the  rain  continys  all  day  we'll  cum  arter  ye 
"this  arternoon." 

"  O  !  don't  pester  yerselves,"  says  I. 
*' Pester  us!"  says  Wilkins  says  he,  **  why,  it  would 
be  the  most  consummit   satisfication    for  us  to  attend  ye 
neverstandin'  we  should  git  wet  to  the  backbone." 

*'  O  ! "  says  Tomson,  raisin'  his  eyes  and  layin'  his 
hand  on  his  bussom,  **  Ide  be  willin'  to  kiss  yer  footprints 
—  'twould  be  exquizzite." 

*'  O  landy  !  "  says  I,  *'  that  wouldent  be  woth  while  — 
ye  may  enjoy  the  felickity  of  imprintin'  a  kiss  on  my  lily 
hand  "  —  so  I  reacht  it  out  and  all  on  'em  kist  it,  and  says 
I,  "  I  intreat  that  ye  won't  nun  on  ye  premit  yerselves  to 
intertain  hopes  that  must  univittably  be  disrealised  and  eend 
in  disappintment,  —  for  I  may  as  well  conform  ye  fust  as 
last,  that  I'm  ingaged  to  the  most  charminest  swine  on 
airth."  So  sayin'  I  hawled  out  the  tobacker  box  and  kist 
it,  and  put  it  back  agin  —  and  then  makin'  a  low  curchy  I 
perceeded  up  chomber,  and  as  I  went  along  I  could  hear 
all  the  fellers  a  syin'. 

When  I  went  into  the  school-room  the  gearls  was  all 
settin'  down  lookin'  jest  as  if  they  suspected  a  knockin'  — 
but  I  went  strait  to  my  cheer  and  sot  down,  and  says  I, 
*'  Gearls,  I  aint  a  goin'  to  exercise  no  more  severitude  to- 
werds  ye.  A  number  of  my  puppils  has  left  my  simiuary, 
9 


98  WIDOW  SPRIG GI^'S. 

and  it  must  be  on  account  of  my  extrornaiy  strictness,  for 
I  can't  think  of  notliin'  else  that  could  a  had  an  attendancy 
to  dimminnish  my  scholers,  —  so  I  sha'n't  giv  nobody  no 
furder  'caslon  to  complain  of  my  stairnness."  Ye  never  see 
creeturs  act  as  my  scholers  did  that  day  cause  I  dident  jaw 
'em  nun  —  more'n  forty  times  I  was  on  the  pint  of  cuffin' 
sum  on  'em  ;  but  then  Ide  happen  to  think  —  so  I  let  'em 
go  on  jest  as  they  pleased.  In  the  arternoon  when  the 
little  ones  had  went  out,  and  the  big  ones  was  a  paintin', 
and  I  was  givin'  Glorianny  Stokes  sum  constructions  con- 
sairnin'  the  picter  she  was  a  copyin',  ('twas  Gineral  Put- 
nam ridin'  down  the  mountin'  —  an  uncommon  splendid 
and  highly  finished  picter,)  Philindy  Ann  liiggins  hollered 
out,  — 

*'  Do  look,  Miss  Kuggles." 

*'  Timothy  Titus  !  "  says  I,  <*  if  that  are  aint  my  retinow 
a  cummin,"  —  and  sure  as  creation,  'twas  Johnson,  and 
Wilkins,  and  Tomson,  a  cummin'  with  a  boss  to  take  me 
hum.  The  gearls  all  snorted  out  a  laffin',  and  says 
]Mirandy  Peabody,  says  she,  "I  never  see  sich  a  bony, 
scrawny  boss,  in  my  life." 

"  Shet  up!"  says  I,  ''it's  a  sperited,  fiery  steed." 
Then  I  stuck  my  head  out  of  the  winder,  and  says  1, 
*'  Gentlemen,  what  for  did  ye  cum  so  airly?  yer  altogetlier 
tew  punctable,  —  but  ye  may  cum  in  and  visit  my  siminary 
if  ye  want  to."  So  they  was  a  cummin',  and  says  I,  "  Yc'd 
best  tie  up  the  boss  fust,  — mabb}^ '11  he'll  run  away." 

"  Run  away  !  "  says  Drusilly  Potter,  "  he  wouldn't  run 
away  if  ye  should  jam  liim  with  a  red-liot  poker  from  now 
to  next  never  —  it's  father's  old  Billy  ;  lie's  game  legged 
and  eeny  most  blind,  —  much  as  a  body  can  do  to  make 
him  stir  at  all." 


WIDOW  SrRIGGINS.  99 

AYell,  they  cum  in  and  sot  down,  and  says  T,   *«  Now, 
gearls,   don't   let  yer  attention  be  extracted  by  these  ere 
young  men  —  it's   very  improper."       So  they  all  on  'em 
kept  on  paintin',  ony  jest  Drusilly  Potter,  and  she  kept  her 
head  out  of  the  winder  and  talked  to  the  old  boss  Billy  all 
the  time  —  she  was    a  turrible  hawbuck.       The  boss  he 
knowd  her  voice  and  he  begun   a  snortin'  and  ye  never 
heerd  sich  a  consairnid  rackit  in  yer  born  days.     I  was 
dretful  'shamed,  for  the  fellers  must  a  thought  strange  on't ; 
but  I  didn't  want  to  jaw   her,   for  'twouldn't  a  ben    like 
Amandy.      The  young  men  egzamined  the  paintin's  and 
admired  them  amazin'ly,  and  putty  soon  I  hollered  to  the 
little  gearls  to  cum  in,  and  'twas  ever  so  long  afore  they 
obeydid  the  summonses.      Finally  they  cum  in,  and  says 
I,   "  Ye  may  put  on  yer  things,  for  I  don't  want  to  keep 
these  ere  gentlemen  waitin'."       But  the  fellers  said  they 
want  in  no  hurry,  and  begged  on  me  to  continny  my  con- 
structions—  so    1    heerd    'em   spell,  and   then   the  fellers 
wanted  to  hear  'em  read  ;  so  I  tell'd  'em  to  git  their  Eng- 
lish Readers,  and  they  did.       They  read  in  the  poitry  in 
the  arternoon  this  time  ;  I  told  'em  to  read  the  peece  be- 
ginnin',   "  Dear  Chole,  while  the  boosy  crowd"  —  'twas  a 
gret  favoryte  of  mine,  and  I  read  it  beautiful  —  I  always 
read  a  vairse  fust  for  each  on  'em,  to  show  'em  how.     The 
gentlemen  was  inraptered  with  the  readin'.      Then  I  tell'd 
'em  to  put  on  their  things  and  make  their  monners  —  so 
they  did;  and  says  I,   '*  Siminary's  out"  —  and  they  all 
cleared  out. 

So  I  begun  to  git  ready,  and  the  fellers  went  down  and 
brung  up  the  old  surtoot. 

*' It  don't  rain,"  says  I,  "  I  han't  no  'casion  for  that 
are." 


100  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

*' But,"  says  Johnson,  '*it's  damp,  and  we're  afraid 
ye'll  ketch  yer  death  a  cold  without  it."  So  they  put  it 
on,  and  they  exorted  me  down  stairs,  and  resisted  me  to 
surmount  the  hoss,  —  and  there  in  the  medder  aside  the 
house  was  all  my  scholers  a  waitin'  for  to  see  me  go. 
Johnson  he  led  the  hoss,  and  Wilkins  and  Tomson  walkt 
on  each  side  on't,  and  in  that  sittyation  we  went  clean  hum 
—  and  ev'ry  once  in  a  while  the  hoss  would  stop  still,  and 
Tomson,  (tender-hearted  young  man,)  instid  of  thumpin' 
on  him,  would  giv  his  tail  a  jerk  and  make  him  go  agin. 
AH  the  gentlemen  kept  a  payiii'  on  me  complements  all  the 
way  about  my  mojestic  appearance  —  and  ev'rybody  stared 
at  us  ;  but  nobody  couldent  say  a  word  —  they  was  all 
speechless  with  admireation.  I  must  a  persented  an  impo- 
sin'  appearence  with  the  gret  long  surtoot  a  hangin'  over 
the  bosses  back,  and  my  hair  a  floatin'  over  my  sholders  ; 
but  I  was  quite  oncomfortable,  for  'twas  dretful  warm,  and 
the  surtoot  was  dretful  heavy,  and  the  sun  beet  down 
awful  hot,  so't  my  phiziogermy  was  all  kivered  with  swet- 
spiration. 

Well,  we  got  hum.  I  unmounted,  and  Johnson  giv  the 
hoss  a  slap,  and  he  limped  off  to  Potter's.  *' Walk  in, 
gentlemen,"  says  I.  So  they  all  cum  in,  and  desisted  me 
off  with  the  surtoot,  and  I  opened  the  square  room  door, 
and  rushered  'em  in.  *'  Beseat  yerselves,"  says  I.  Then 
I  went  up  chomber  and  arrannged  my  dress ;  wiped  the 
swetspiration  off  my  face;  done  up  my  hair,  it  felt  so 
warm  ;  stuck  a  couple  of  ostridge  fethers  in  my  head,  and 
condescended  to  the  square  room,  where  I  found  Aunt 
Huldy  and  Mr.  Jabez  Spriggins,  and  his  mother,  an  old- 
erly  woman,  of  oncommon  good  understandin',  and  very 
agreeable,  but  very  nigh-sighted  and  considerblc  deef;  so't 


WIDOW  SPRICGINS.  101 

slie  dldent  appear  as  much  struck  with  my  looks  as  she 
other  ways  would  a  ben.  She'd  ben  there  all  the  arter- 
noon,  and  Jabez  stopt  on  his  way  hum  from  school ;  they'd 
ben  a  settin  in    the  kitching  long  of  Aunt  Huldy. 

"  Yer  sarvent,"  says  Jabez,  *'  I  make  ye  acquaintid 
with  my  mother." 

' '  How  do  ye  dew  ?  "  says  I,  but  she  dldent  look  off  her 
nittin'  work.  So  Jabez  he  hollered  right  in  her  ear, 
**  Miss  Ruggles  axes  ye  how  ye  dew?"  "  Miss  Rugg?  " 
says  she,  *'  well,  why  couldent  she  speak  up  so's  to  be 
heerd  ? "  So  I  went  and  sot  down  nigh  by  her  and 
yelled  out  as  loud  as  ever  I  could, 

'*  Yer  considerble  hard  of  hearin',  ain't  ye  Missis  Sprig- 
gins?"  *' Hard  of  hearin  !  "  says  she,  "  yer  mistaken  ; 
my  hearin's  as  good  as  ever  'twas,  ony  I  can't  hear  whis- 
perin'  no  more'n  anybody  else  that  hain't  alwas  ben  used 
to't ;  if  they'd  taJk  as  they  did  when  I  was  young  I  could 
hear  well  enuff."  Well,  I  talkt  to  Missis  Spriggins  a 
spell,  and  she  seemed  to  take  quite  a  notion  to  me  'cause 
I  hollered  so  loud  —  said  I  talkt  as  they  did  in  old  times. 
Byrne  by  tea  was  reddy,  and  aunt  cum  in  and  called  us 
out  —  so  we  went  into  the  kitching,  and  says  aunt,  "  Set 
by."  So  we  sot  down  to  the  table,  and  we  had  punkin 
pie,  and  apple-sass,  and  short  cake,  and  nutcakes,  and 
sweet  cake,  and  pickled  cowcumbers,  and  sage  cheeze. 

"Missis  Spriggins,"  says  Aunt  Huldy,  "is  yer  tea 
agreeable  ?  " 

"  Yis,"  says  she. 

"  Jabez  is  yourn?  "     "  Fust  rate,"  says  he. 

"  Mr.  Wilkins,  is  yourn?  "     "  Excellent,"  says  he. 

**  Mr.  Johnson  is  yourn?  "     "  Delishus,"  says  he. 

"  Mr.  Tomson  is  yourn?  " 
9* 


102  WIDOW  SFEIGGINS. 

*'  Exquizzlte,"  says  he. 

''Well  now,"  contlnyd  she,  ''do  eat,  and  don't  be 
bashful  —  do  try  to  make  out  a  supper  :  "  and  they  all  did 
eat  putty  hearty  but  me — I  ony  took  a  dish  of  tea,  and 
dident  eat  nothin'. 

Putty  soon  arter  tea  old  Sprlggins  cum  in  a  wagon  arter 
his  wife.  Aunt  and  uncle  went  in  the  kitching  and  I  was 
alone  with  four  interestin'  young  men  :  so  says  I,  "  Gen- 
tlemen, what  good  do  ye  spose  it's  a  guayne  to  do  ye  to 
take  arter  me  ?  I'm  undessolubly  united  in  the  bonds  of 
affection  on  Philander ;  I  can't  incurrldge  nary  on  ye.  " 
They  all  put  their  honkerchers  to  their  eyes  —  Spriggins 
he  lookt  dretfully  pleased,  and  says  he,  "  Ye  don't  mean 
me  tew,  'cause  ye  ain't  a  guayne  to  giv  me  my  anser  till 
I've  larnt  that  are  you  know  what,  and  thattle  be  putty 
soon,  I  tell  ye." 

"  O  !  "  says  Wilkins  says  he,  "  don't  put  a  momenta- 
rious  etjnd  to  all  my  hopes." 

Says  Tomson,  "  Don't  break  my  heart  by  sayin'  ye 
won't  be  mine." 

Says  Johnson,  '*  Don't,  for  goodness  sake  drive  me  to 
desperation  and  discomboberation  by  sich  soul-distractin' 
words  !  " 

"  My  gracious,  Mr.  Johnson,"  says  I,  "  how  much 
that  are  speech  of  yourn  did  sound  like  Philander." 

"  Murder  !  "  says  he  ;  "  don't  mention  the  name  of  that 
detistable  rival."  Putty  soon  they  all  went,  and  if  ever 
there  was  three  fellers  felt  bad,  them  are  three  coliidge 
fellers  did. 

Arter  they'd  went  I  went  to  take  a  walk,  and  I  rombled 
down  to  the  lower  eend  of  Uncle  Jonah's  farm  —  a  moran- 
tic  and  secludid   spot,   where    there   was    a  swamp   with 


WIDOW  SPRIG  a  INS.  103 

bushes  all  round  It,  and  the  air  was  Impregglnated  with  the 
flagrance  of  thousands  of  lillies  that  growd  there  in  gret 
lugshurlance  —  and  havin'  my  writin'  consairns  along  I  sot 
down  on  a  stump  and  convoked  the  aid  of  the  musses  as 
follers  : 

ODE   TO  MEMORY. 

'  O  !  memory  if  'twant  for  thee 
I  should  forget  my  lover  — 
And  then  ho"5it  wretched  he  would  be 
My  feelins  to  discover  1 

And  gracious  !  I  should  be  bereft 

Of  every  consolation, 
And  sink  right  down  beneath  the  heft 

Of  my  sad  sittyation. 

Tho'  troubled,  1  won't  make  no  fuss, 

If  memory  doesn't  fixil  me  — 
I  can't  imagine  nothin'  wuss 

That  possibly  could  ail  me. 

Tho'  natur  seems,  when  he  ain't  here, 

As  doleful  as  December  — 

I'd  ruthcr  he'd  be  goue  a  year 

Than  for  to  disremember. 

Them  lilies  when  the  sun  was  up 

As  stiff  as  pokers  grew. 
But  now  they're  jest  as  wet  as  sop, 

And  all  bent  down  with  dew. 

So  Milly's  onforgitful  heart 

Is  bendiu'  down  with  sorrer  ; 
I'll  weep  as  long  as  we're  apart,— 

I  wish  he'd  cum  to-morrer. 


104  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Capting-,  Where's  my  gallant  sailor, 

Ime  dezirous  for  to  know  ? " 
Madam,  if  you  mean  Sam  Taylor, 
He  was  married  a  week  ago." 


Old  Song. 


ELL,  the  anteceecHn'  week  of  things  went  on 
purty  much  as  they  did  the  proceedin' ;  but  a 
Saturday  an  event  conspired  that  channged  my 
destination.  When  I  went  hum  from  my  sira- 
inary,  lo  and  behold,  there  was  a  letter  from  Podunk  for 
me  ;  and  I  opened  it  and  found  'twas  from  father  —  here's 
a  subscription  on't : 

'/  Dorter  Milly  :  —  Cum  hum  right  strait  off  you  —  yer 
marai  is  to  the  pint  of  death.  She  was  took  last  week  with 
a  dretful  cramp  in  her  side — awfal  crick  in  her  back  —  blind 
headache  and  turrible  cold  feet.  She's  talkt  about  her 
Milly  ever  sen  she  was  took,  and  wanted  to  have  us  send 
for  ye  at  fust,  but  as  I  reckoned  she'd  git  up  agin  afore 
long — (cause  she's  ben  took  so  a  number  of  times  and 
never  died  afore)  —  I  thought  Hwant  best  to  send  for  ye. 
we've  had  sich  peccable  times  sen  ye  went  off;  but  she  got 
wus  and  wus,  and  now  we  don't  have  no  idee  she'll  git 
well  —  so  ye  jest  cum  hum  as  quick  as  ye  can,  and  dew 
make  up  yer  mind  to  be  of  sum  sarvice  to  us  when  ye  git 
here.  Yer  daddy, 

"Nadab  Euggles.'^ 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  105 

Now,  thinks  me,  my  exhibition  's  all  knockt  in  the  head 
—  (for  yer  must  know  I  was  perjectin  to  have  an  exhibi- 
tion in  my  siminary)  —  and  I  mustent  think  of  nothin'  now 
only  my  beloved  payrent  —  so  I  huv  myself  on  the  bed 
and  jackelated,  "O  mairciful  creation!  support  and 
strenken  me  in  this  tryin  hour,  and  onable  me  to  cumfort 
my  onfortinate  mother  afore  she  dies."  Jest  as  Amandy 
did  when  she  heard  of  her  father's  illness.  Then  I  thought 
Ide  go  into  highsterics.  So  I  begun  kickin'  and  squallin' 
and  rollin'  my  eyes  consairnedly.  Aunt  Huldy  she  heerd 
me  and  she  cum  up. 

*'  Grandfer  grievous  I  "  says  she,  <'  what's  to  pay?  " 

<'  O  dear  suz  !  "  says  I,  **  read  that  are  letter  and  ye 
won't  wonder  at  me  —  for  my  everlastin'  dear  mother  isent 
suspected  to  live  from  one  day  to  t'other." 

*' You  don't  say  so,"  says  she.  So  she  took  and  read 
it,  and  says  she,  '*  He  go  hum  with  ye,  for  T  must  see 
Vihy  once  more  afore  she  dies  ;  jump  up,  Milly  ;  we'll  git 
reddy  right  off;  and  go  in  the  stage  when  it  cums  along 
this  evenin'." 

"  Onfeelin'  woman  !  "  says  I,  *'  how  can  ye  tell  me  to 
git  up  when  I've  got  the  highstericks  so  owfully  !  " 

'<  I  know  It,"  says  she,  *'  poor  child  !  but  then  if  ye 
don't  git  over  it  the  stage  will  go  along  afore  yer  reddy  — 
and  don't  ye  remember  how  Amandy  hurried  to  git  to  her 
'father  when  she  heerd  he  was  sick."  So  I  hopt  up  in  the 
most  agonizin'  state  of  condition  and  begun  to  git  reddy. 
I  put  on  my  black  rottenette  gowud,  and  a  black  bouiba- 
zeen  long  shawl  that  mother  gin  me,  one  she  wore  when 
she  was  in  mournin'  for  Grandfer  Hogobone  —  then  I  tied 
a  black  ribbin  round  my  bunnit,  and  stuck  one  amazin' 
lono'  black  ostrids^e  fether  in't.     Then  I  stufFt  all  the  rest 


1 0  G  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

of  my  things  In  my  chlst  and  lockt  it  up.  Whilst  I  was 
fixin',  Aunt  Huldy  went  out  and  told  Uncle  Jonah,  and 
purty  soon  they  cum  in,  and  says  uncle,  says  he, 

*'  Why,  Milly,  it's  all  nonsense  for  yer  aunt  to  go  hum 
with  ye." 

*'  I  guess  He  go  for  all  you  —  so  there  now,"  says  aunt. 

''  Well,"  says  uncle,  *'  I  shant  giv  ye  no  money  to  go 
with.  Ye  never  hear  of  any  of  yer  relations  bein'  sick 
but  what  ye  want  to  go  and  see  'em  die,  and  cut  a  sworth 
to  the  funeral,  and  ye  might  better  stay  hum  and  take  care 
of  yer  family." 

"Mighty  family!"  says  Aunt  Huldy,  *«ony  one  old 
coot  to  see  tew  !  " 

'<  Mister  and  Missis,"  says  I,  *«  if  ye  want  to  qurril  on 
this  mawlancolly  casion  I  wish  ye'd  retire  to  the  kitchenary 
department,  and  not  disturb  me  by  yer  discongenial  ex- 
ploteration."  So  they  went  off,  and  I  sot  down  and  writ 
the  follerin'  notice  to  my  school : 

*' Daelin  Puppils  : — It  is  with  the  bio-o-est  sorrer  I 
denounce  to  you  that  I  shall  be  enable  to  construct  you 
enny  more  at  present ;  and  whether  I  shall  ever  consume 
the  delightful  task  to  develup  yer  minds  enny  more  is  a 
circumstence  that  lies  hid  in  the  unbeholden  debths  of 
futrinity.  I  am  summonsed  to  contend  the  death-bed  of  an 
only  and  beloved  mother  —  but  I  wish  to  desire  to  make 
one  last  request  of  ye.  I  want  ye  all  to  go  to  meetin'  to- 
morrer  drest  in  black  gownds  and  black  ostridge  fethers  in 
yer  bonnits,  and  when  meetin's  out,  perceed  to  the  front 
of  Deacon  Peabody's  door  —  rannge  yerselves  In  a  row 
and  sing  the  follerin*  stanzy  to  the  tunc  of  the  long  meetre 
doxyology  : 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  107 

•'  Alas  I  our  darlin'  teacher's  pone, 
That's  why  we  put  these  black  gownds  on ; 
We  can't  submit  to't  tho'  we  must ; 
It  seems  as  if  our  very  hearts  would  bust." 

Arter  supper  the  stage  cum  along,  and  Uncle  Jonah  run 
out  and  hulloed,  *'  Passenger  for  Podunk ;  "  so  they  druv 
up,  and  we  all  went  out,  and  whilst  the  driver  was  helpin' 
Uncle  Jonah  put  my  chlst  into't,  I  huv  my  arms  round 
Aunt  Huldy  and  kist  her  agin  and  agin,  exclamigatin', 
"Farewell  belovedest,  darllnest  Aunt  Huldy  —  may  all 
the  blessins  of  Pleaven  be  condescended  upon  yer."  Then 
I  stretcht  out  one  hand  and  had  t'other  on  my  heart,  and 
lookln'  round  me  with  a  heavy  sythe,  says  I  thus  :  *'  Adoo  ! 
sylvanlc  shades  of  Higglns  Patent !  no  longer  will  ye  giv 
a  sylum  to  the  fair  Permilly.  Adoo  !  sweet  umbragglous 
shady  grove  where  I  parted  with  Philander  —  no  more  will 
my  fairy  form  wander  amonkst  yer  excludid  shades,  to 
court  the  musses  and  think  on  my  distant  swine  —  I  bid 
ye  an  unterminable  farewell !  " 

There  was  three  gentlemen  In  the  stage,  and  they  stared 
at  me  consairnedly,  and  says  one  on  'em  to  Aunt  Huldy, 
' '  Is  the  young  woman  derannged  ?  " 

'*Derannged!  no;"  says  she,  ««  ony  she's  ruther 
smarter'n  common  folks." 

Well,  I  got  In  and  we  druv  off.  O  !  if  there  is  a 
minnit  in  this  subernary  state  of  egsistence,  when  the  sad 
and  sorrerful  sperrit  fells  as  if  it  wouldent  giv  teppence 
for  all  creation,  'tis  when  we  part  with  frinds.  I  felt  so 
then  —  so  I  huv  my  head  languldlously  over  onto  the 
sholder  of  the  man  that  sot  aside  of  me,  and  bust  into  a 
simmultaneous  flood  of  tears. 

Arter  Ide  recovered  a  little  I  raised  my  droopin'  head 


108  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

and  lookt  round  and  I  never  see  tew  surprisder  lookin' 
creeturs  than  the  men  that  sot  opposit  of  me.  They 
opened  their  eyes  as  big  as  sarcers  and  begun  whisperin' 
about  me  —  but  the  one  next  to  me  dident  say  a  word.  So 
I  lookt  round  at  him  and  good  gracious  !  he  lookt  so  much 
like  Philander  (ony  sum  older,)  that  I  utterated  a  percin' 
skreik  and  tumbled  prostracious  on  the  bottom  of  the 
stage.  They  all  jumpt  up  and  resisted  me  to  rise  and  arter 
I  was  beseated,  says  I,  "  Gentlemen,  mabby  you  think 
strannge  of  me,  and  for  fear  you  should  intertain  oranious 
impressions  regardin'  me,  He  tell  ye  my  history,  if  ye'd 
like  to  hear  it."  They  all  said  they'd  like  to  hear  it  wonder- 
fully —  so  I  telld  'em  the  hull  I've  telld  my  readers  ;  only 
I  couldent  remember  all  the  poitry ;  but  I  had  a  coppy  of 
my  Ode  to  Memory  in  my  work  pocket,  and  I  took  that 
out  and  read  it  to  'em.  The  young  man  that  set  aside  of 
me  said  he  never  heerd  enny  thing  equal  to  it ;  but  the 
other  men  dident  say  a  word,  and  nary  on  'em  dident  speak 
to  me  agin  —  they  was  olderly  men  and  oncommon  ruff 
lookin',  but  'tother  one  was  a  rael  slick  lookin'  feller  —  he 
telld  me  he  lived  in  Utica ;  and  like  most  of  the  residers 
of  that  extensyve  and  anncient  city  he  was  oncommon  gin- 
teel  in  his  appearance,  and  refined  in  his  monners.  Well, 
purty  soon  we  arrove  at  Utica,  and  the  stage  druv  up  to 
the  stage-house,  and  there  was  a  lot  of  men  standin' round, 
and  when  the  young  man  got  out,  there  was  one  run  out 
amonkst  from  'em  and  shook  hands  with  him  ;  so  I  poked 
my  head  out  to  git  a  better  sight  on  him,  and  as  true  as  crea- 
ti(jn,  'twas  Philander  !  my  long-lost  Philander.  Tie  was 
considerble  altered,  and  I  should  a  thought  'twas  Johnson 
if  he  hadent  a  had  on  the  same  green  coat  with  a  black 
velvet  collar  he  had  on  when  he  paid  his  distresses  to  me  ; 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  109 

but  there  was  no  mistake  ;  so  I  jumpt  out  of  the  stage  and 
run  towerds  him.  The  men  all  gin  way  for  me  and  I  rushed 
ahead  exclamigatin,  *'  O  Philander  !  my  own  darlin'  Phil- 
ander !  Heaven  has  at  last  restorated  you  to  your  mournin' 
but  faithful  Permilly." 

So  sayin'  I  huv  my  arms  round  him  and  eeny  most  had 
a  highsteric  fit.  There  was  ever  so  many  young  men 
standin'  round,  and  amongst  'em  I  see  Wilkins  and  Tom- 
son,  and  they  all  hoorawd.  Philander,  instid  of  returnin' 
my  inraptured  caresses,  lookt  rael  mad,  and  dident  know 
what  to  do.  At  last  the  young  man  that  cum  in  the  stage 
with  me  says  he,  *' The  young  woman's  crazy  ^  she's 
taken  iny  brother  to  be  sumbody  else  ;  "  and  says  Philan- 
der, "  We'd  better  take  her  into  the  house  till  the  stage  is 
reddy."  So  he  and  his  brother  led  me  in  and  sot  me  down 
on  a  sofy,  and  all  the  other  fellers  follered  arter.  Philan- 
der and  his  brother  whispered  together  a  spell,  and  then 
Philander  went  out,  motionin'  to  t'other  fellers  to  accompa- 
nate  him.  Arter  they'd  all  went  ony  Philander's  brother 
and  me,  he  cum  tome  and  says  he, '*  Miss  Kuggles  ; " 
says  I,  ''Hay!"  says  he,  "  Pve  got  suthin  to  tell  ye, 
thattle  no  doubt  make  ye  feel  ruther  bad,  and  tho'  I'd 
ruther  have  an  iron  spike  druv  thro'  me  than  to  communi- 
cate sich  a  piece  of  contelligence,  yit  it's  my  duty  to  do  it, 
and  if  I  don't  ye'll  find  it  out  sum  time  or  other." 

*'Dew  tell,"  says  I,  "my  curiosity  is  rung  up  to    the 
biggest  pitch  —  dew  tell  me." 

''Well,"  says    he,    "  if  I   must   I    must  —  Philander's 
married  !  " 

If  a  thousand  muskits  had  ben   fired  at  my  head,  and  a 
million  baggernets  run  through  my  body,  I  shouldent  a  ben 
more  bethunderstruck  nor  no  nigher  killed  than  I  was  that 
10 


1  i  0  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

mlnnlt.  I  yelled  out  as  loud  as  ever  I  could,  and  then  I 
got  up  and  took  off'  my  bunnit  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  and 
begun  tearin'  my  .  hair  most  awfully,  and  ravin'  and 
screemin'  the  wost  way,  so't  all  the  folks  in  the  house  cum 
runnin'  in  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Arter  Ide  got 
complectly  desausted  I  sot  dowm  and  gin  vent  to  my  sorrer 
in  heart-splittin'  groans  and  sythes,  and  thinks  me,  how 
would  Amandy  acted  if  she'd  heern  Lord  Mortimer  was 
married?  There's  no  tellin'.  But  I  know  how  she  acted 
when  she  heerd  he  was  a  guayne  to  be.  She  lost  her 
appertite  and  growd  as  thin  as  a  rail ;  but  dident  say  a 
word  about  it  to  nobody  —  tho'  she  took  on  when  she  got 
alone.  And  thinks  me,  like  enuff  Philander's  torrannical 
father  has  ben  a  makin'  of  him  git  married  agin  his  inclina- 
tion, jest  as  Lord  Mortimer's  father  was  a  guayne  to  make 
him.  So  says  I,  "  Did  his  cruel  father  impel  him  to  git 
married  ao-in  his  inclination  ?  "  and  1  lookt  round  to  where 
Philander's  brother  sot,  and  lo  and  behold,  he  want  there. 
I  spose  he  was  so  overcum  by  my  sufFerins  he  couldent 
stand  it,  and  so  cleard  out,  and  I  never  see  no  more  on 
him  nor  Philander  nyther  from  that  day  to  this.  I  han't 
.no  doubt  but  what  Philander  had  been  conduced  to  believe 
that  I  was  onfaithful  to  him.  Lord  Mortimer  wouldent  a 
wiped  his  old  shoes  on  Lady  Euphrasia  Sutherland  if  he 
hadent  a  sposed  Amandy  was  onfaithful  —  no  more  would- 
ent Philander  a  married  anybody  else  if  he  hadn't  a  sposed 
Ide  forgit  him,  and  Ide  be  wiling  to  bet  a  boss  that  John- 
son and  Wilkins  and  Tomson  had  been  a  lyin'  to  him  about 
me;  'cause  they  wanted' me  themselves.  -Well,  arter 
thinkin'  on't  all  over  I  got  up  and  dun  up  my  hair,  and  put 
on  my  bunnit,  and  tho'  there  was  morc'n  forty  folks  —  men, 
wimmin,  and   children,  axin'  of  me  questions  —  I   dident 


WW 0  W  SPRIG GIXS.  1 1 1 

anser  'em  n'or  tell  'em  what  ailded  me,  but  arter  Ide  got 
iixt  I  went  out  and  stood  by  the  door  till  t'other  stage  got 
reddy  to  go,  and  then  I  got  in  and  huv  my  head  agin  the 
back  side  of  the  stage  and  shot  up  my  eyes  and  dident 
open  'em  agin  whilst  t'other  passengers  was  a  gittin'  In, 
nor  for  quite  a  spell  arterwards  :  but  there  I  sot  a  ponder- 
in',  and  my  rumlrations  was  the  most  distressin'  1  ever 
experienced  In  my  born  days,  and  whilst  I  was  a  settin'  In 
that  persltlon  I  composed  sum  very  mournful  stanzys,  and 
I  thought  Ide  write  'em  off  so  I  opend  my  eyes  and  I  see 
'twas  conslderble  dark,  so't  I  couldent  see  the  folks  that 
was  in  the  stage,  ony  so  fur  as  to  see  that  they  was  all 
men  folks,  and  I  was  the  ony  shemale  in  the  stage.  So 
says  I,  *'  Gentlemen,  I  want  to  write  down  sum  poitry 
and  I  don't  see  how  Ime  to  do  It,  It's  so  dark." 

<*  O  !"  says  one  on  'em. says  he,  "  I  can  write  as  well 
in  the  dark  as  I  can  without  a  light.  He  write  it  for  ye  if 
ye'll  tell  me  as  I  go  long." 

**  He  be  obleejed  to  ye  to  do  it,"  says  I :  so  I  gin  him 
my  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper,  and  he  took  his  hat  and 
writ  on  top  on't,  (me  tellln'  on  him  a  line  to  once)  the 
follerin': 

ON  A  LAMENT. 

Did  you  ever  see  Philander? 

O  I  he  was  a  charmin'  swiue ; 
He  was  tall,  and  he  was  slender; 

He  was  honsome;  he  was  mine. 

To  a  maid  he  took  a  notion, 

She  his  love  did  soon  return, 
And  while  he  was  on  the  oshun 

She  believed  his  heart  was  hern. 

He  intended  for  to  marry  ; 

But  alas  I  his  mmd  he  channged  — 
Now  she's  ravin'  like  old  Harry  ; 

He  is  false,  and  she's  derannged. 


112  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

'*  That's  all,"  says  I,  ^*  now  giv  it  to  me." 

"  O  no  !  "  says  he,  **you''must  allow  me  to  read  it  to 
my  frinds  —  it's  exquizzlte."  As  soon  as  he  said  that  I 
know'd  who  'twas:  "Land  of  liberty!"  says  I,  "Mr. 
Toms  on,  is  that  you  ?  " 

*' Egzackly,"  says  he,  "and  I  vow  I  believe  this  is 
INIiss  Ruggles —  I  dident  know  ye  afore  —  and  here's  Mr. 
Johnson  and  Mr.  Wilkins.  I  hope  we  shall  have  the 
pleshure  of  yer  company  to  Skenackady." 

"  I  declare,"  says  Johnson,  "  this  is  truly  a  happifyin' 
circumstence." 

"By  George!"  says  Wilkins,  "we're  a  fortinate  set 
of  fellers  to  be  so  onexpectedly  favored  with  Miss  Eug- 
gleses  company." 

"  Hold  yer  jaw,"  says  I,  "yer  a  mean,  contemptible 
set  of  villings  ;  I  won't  have  nothin'  to  say  to  nary  one  on 
ye  ;  so  jest  giv  up  that  are  poitry." 

"  This  is  strannge,"  says  Johnson,  "  how  on  airth  have 
we  offended  you  ?  " 

"  Purty  question  for  you  to  ax,  you  tarnal  wretch,"  says 
I,  shaking  my  fist  in  his  face. 

"  What  have  we  done?  "  says  Tomson. 

"  Dun  ?  "  says  I.  "  Haint  ye  ben  the  means  of  dashin' 
the  dish  of  felickity  from  my  lips  ?  —  Haint  ye  underminded 
me  in  the  affections  of  Philander?  Haint  it  ben  thro' 
your  instrumentality  that  he's  went  and  married  another, 
and  left  me  to  uncomboundid  dispare  ?  " 

"  O  yer  mistaken  ! "  says  they  all  to  once. 

"  I  aint  nyther,"  says  I  —  so  I  stuft  my  fingers  in  my 
cars  and  held  'em  so  ever  so  long.  At  last  Tomson 
begun  to  read  the  poitry  he'd  writ  down  for  me  out  loud, 
and   when  he'd  red  it  thev  sung   it  to  a  Methodist  tune. 


WIDOW  SPRIG oms.  113 

Tomson  he  lined  it  as  they  do  in  meetin'.  So  I  took  my 
fingers  out  of  my  ears  to  listen  to  'em,  and  says  Johnson, 
*«  Music  hath  charms  to  sooth  a  savidge  !  I  tho't  you'd  get 
over  it." 

**I  hain't  got  over  it  nyther,"  says  I  —  so  I  stuck  my 
head  out  of  the  winder  and  hollerd  "  Murder  !  murder  ! " 
as  loud  as  ever  I  could  yell.  Well  the  hosses  they  was 
dretfully  skairt,  and  took  off  as  tight  as  ever  they  could 
pull.  The  driver  he  tried  to  hold  'em  in,  and  kept  a 
hollerin'  "hoe!"  but  they  went  faster  and  faster,  and 
purty  soon  they  went  tearin'  down  a  hill  and  huv  the 
stage  right  over  ;  and  we  all  cum  tumblin'  out  en  massy  — - 
but  this  ere's  an  oncommon  long  chopter,  so  I  must  cum 
to  an  eend  just  where  I  shouldcnt  orto. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Come  tell  me,  blue-eyed  strannger, 
Say  whither  dust  thou  roam, 
O'er  this  wide  world  a  rannger, 
Hast  thou  no  frinds  nor  hum  ?  " 

Old  Song. 

T  fust  I  reckoned  we  was  all  killd,  but  arter  a  spell 

we  found  we  was  all  alive,  ony  considerble  stunted 

—  but  the  driver  was  the  maddest  creetur  ever  I 

see ;  he  cusst  and   swore,  and  said  if  it  hadent  a 

ben  for  me  the  hosses  wouldent  a  run  away.     Well,  there 

was  a  house  nigh  by  and  a  man  and  a  big  boy  cum  out  and 

helpt  'em  fix  the  stage,  and  arter  'twas  fixt  the  fellers  was 

10* 


114  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS, 

a  guayne  to  help  me  Into't  agin,  but  says  I,  In  a  senatorian 
voice,  ''Lemine  alone,  I  aint  a  guayne  to  travil  a  step  fur- 
der  wid  ye  !  ** 

**  Unposslble ! "  says  all  three  of  the  fellers,  **you 
mustent  leave  us  so." 

'*  Hold  yer  jaw,"  says  I,  ''  yer  a  set  of  thunderin'  mean 
scampers,  I  won't  be  seen  in  yer  company — I  despise  ye 
more'n  I  dew  the  alrth  I  tred  on — I  don't  consider  ye 
worth  turnin'  my  nose  up  at." 

*«  Well,"  says  the  driver,  *'  If  ye  did  ye  wouldent  have 
to  do  it,  seein'  it's  alreddy  arrannged  in  that  persition." 
When  the  driver  said  that,  the  fellers  all  lafft  consairn- 
edly. 

''  O,  lawful  suz  !  "  says  .1,  "ye  all  begin  to  lafF  now 
seein'  ye  can't  git  me.  Jabez  Spriggins  telld  the  truth 
about  ye  when  he  said  ye  tho't  ye'd  lalrnt  all  there  was  to 
be  lalrnt  to  Hamilton  Collidge  and  so  sot  off  for  Durrup 
CoUidge  to  use  that  up  tew ;  but  I  can  tell  ye  if  ye  go  to 
all  the  Collidges  in  Americy,  ye  won't  know  B  from 
broomstick  —  so  Mister  Perllteness  "  (contlnuyd  I,  ad- 
dressin'  the  driver),  "jest  take  off  my  chlst,  for  Ime  a 
guayne  to  stop  to  this  ere  house.  ''  Yer  chlst,"  says  he, 
'*  ye  han't  no  chist."  So  says  I  to  the  man,  <'  Mister,  I 
wish  ye'd  let  yer  boy  there  go  up  to  Utica  and  get  my 
chist  —  they  forgot  to  put  it  aboard  the  stage."  But  the 
driver  up  and  says  he,  "  Don't  ye  dew  it ;  she  han't  got  no 
chist ;  she's  crazy." 

*'  Ye  lie  like  split,"  says  I,  '*  I'm  a  young  woman  of 
the  biggest  respecterbihty  —  of  Dutch  distraction  on  the 
mother's  side,  and  New  England  consent  on  the  father's, 
and  my  Grand fer  Ruggles  fit,  bled,  and  died  In  the  revo- 
lutionerry  tussle,  and  arterwards  drawd  a  pension,  and  if 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  115 

it  want  for  all  these  ere  sircurastences  my  own  Individdyal 
extinction  would  be  enuff  to  skewer  me  the  steam  and  ad- 
mireatlon  of  all  creation." 

**  Well,"  says  the  driver,  *'  ye've  got  to  pay  as  much 
dammage  as  if  ye  went  to  Durrup."  So  I  took  out  my 
puss  and  paid  him  and  they  druv  off  and  I  went  into  the 
house;  and  says  I  to  the  man  and  woman,  *' That  are 
driver  haint  no  reason  to  think  I'm  derannged,  ony  cause 
I  wouldent  travil  with  the  company  he's  carryin',  and  I  do 
boseech  on  ye  to  send  arter  my  chist  to  Utica,  for  it's  got 
all  my  notions  in't." 

"  Well,"  says  the  man,  «'  it's  pitch  dark  now  —  I  can't 
let  Hoky  go  to-night,  but  mabby  I  will  to-morrer." 

<^  Well,  then,"  says  I,  "jest  give  giv  me  a  compart- 
ment for  I  want  to  go  into  a  state  of  retiracy," 

*'  Give  ye  what?  "  says  the  woman. 

*'  Why,  a  room  to  sleep  in  you,"  says  I. 

*'  Well,"  says  she,  *'ye'll  have  to  sleep  with  Zady,  for 
the  schoolmaster's  a  boardin'  here  this  week,  and  he's  got 
the  spare  bed,  and  he's  gone  to  bed  now."  So  she  took  a 
lontern  and  went  up  chomber  and  I  follered  arter,  and  she 
rusliered  me  into  a  room  that  was  in  considerable  of  a 
condition  —  there  was  a  half  a  lookin  glass,  an  old  three 
Ici^o-ed  cheer,  and  an  old  shakin'  table  that  would  tumble 
over  if  ye  lookt  at  it  hard  ;  and  in  the  corner  was  a  trundle 
bed  and  a  gret  fat  gearl  asleep  on't  a  snorin'  the  wost 
way. 

"  Good  woman,"  says  I.  <*  My  name's  Missis  Hitchins," 
says  she. 

*«  Well,  Missis  Hitchins,"  says  I,  **  ye  may  make  yer 
disappearance."  So  she  went  off,  and  I  took  the  lontern 
and  went  up  and  took  a  realizin'  sense  of  the  trundle  bed ; 


110  WID  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

and  besides  the  snorin'  of  the  fleshy  gearl,  the  oncommon 
narrowness  of  the  trundle  bed  was  sich  as  to  render  It  on- 
possible  to  repoze  there  :  so  thinks  me,  I'll  set  up  all  night. 
So  I  turned  the  old  cheer  over  and  sot  down  on't,  and  be- 
gun to  ponderate  ;  and  thinks  me,  how  much  my  sittyation 
is  like  Amandy's  when  she  stopt  to  old  Byrnes  flamber- 
gasted  cottidge.  What  a  pity  she  dident  have  my  genyus 
for  makin'  poltry  —  what  an  interestin'  account  she'd  a  gin 
of  her  misfortins  ;  but  taint  everybody  that  has  a  natral 
genyus  for't,  and  if  It  d^n't  cum  natral  there's  no  use  in 
tryin'  —  they  mought  as  well  try  to  make  a  univairse  as 
to  try  to  make  poitry  without  beein'  natrally  gifted  that 
way  —  and  seein'  I've  got  sich  gret  poeticle  tallents  Ide 
or'to  improve  'em,  and  certainly  the  soUem  sittyation  Ime 
placed  in  to-night  should  or'to  inspire  me  with  a  wonder- 
ful frenzy  for  composin'.  So  I  lookt  in  my  ridicule  and 
there  want  no  paper  there. 

Just  then  I  heerd  surabody  in  the  contigruous  room  ut- 
terate  the  terriblest  percin'  skreek  I  ever  heerd  in  my  born 
days.  So  thinks  me,  sumbody's  dyin'  or  sumbodj's  mur- 
derin'  sumbody  ;  and  bein'  indued  with  oncommon  cur- 
ridge,  I  ketcht  the  lontern  and  run  in  there  —  but  there 
want  no  noise  nor  nobody  there  ony  sumbody  in  bed ;  so  I 
went  up  to  the  bed  to  see  whether  the  occerpyer  was  dead 
or  alive — and  lo  and  behold,  there  was  a  very  interestin' 
lookin'  young  man  asleep  there,  and  thinks  me  he  had  the 
nightmare  when  he  yelled  so  —  no  doubt  he  was  a  dream- 
in'  of  his  own  sorrers  and  misfortins,  for  I  knowd  from  his 
looks  that  he  want  a  strannger  to  greef.  He  had  on  a  red 
nightcap  with  a  tossil  on  top,  and  a  number  of  holes  in't 
thro'  which  his  dark  hair  was  pokin'  in  greaceful  neglitudc, 
O  !  (solliquized  I,)  greef  has   did   Its   work    on    that  are 


WIDOW  SPEIGGmS.  117 

long  thin  nose  and  turned  up  the  tip  on't  with  continyl 
sobbin  !  greef  has  ondoubtedly  drawd  down  the  corners 
of  that  are  mouth,  and  dreams  of  unrelentin'  ennemys 
pursuin'  of  ye  has  certinly  skairt  ye  to  sich  an  alarming 
degree  as  to  make  yer  ears  start  out  so  and  bust  them 
holes  in  yer  nightcap  !  peace  to  yer  ashes,  mournin'  swine. 
So  sayin'  I  turned  round  to  go  out,  when  I  obsairved  sum 
paper  lyin'  on  the  table.  So  I  reckoned  Ide  help  myself 
to  a  sheet  on't  to  write  sum  poitry  on  ;  but  seein'  an  ink- 
stand and  pen  there  thinks  me.  He  write  here  cause  this 
ere  table  don't  shake  so  as  t'other  does.  So  I  drawd  up  a 
cheer  and  sot  down,  and  mj  medifications  resulted  in  the 
foUerin'  confusion  :  — 

Who  knows  but  what  I'm  settin'  nigh 

To  sum  extinguished  strannger, 

'  That  from  his  hum  was  forced  to  fly 

O'er  this  wide  world  a  rannger. 

Mabby  his  father  was  onkind, 

And  tried  to  make  him  wed 
Sum  gearl  that  wasent  to  his  mind, 

And  so  from  hum  he  fled. 

Tho'  others  blame  ye,  mournin'  man, 

The  fair  Permilly'll  praise  ye, 
Because  ye  wouldent  jiiie  yer  hand 

To  disbeloved  Euphrashy. 

Wake  I  long-nosed  marquis  1  lord  or  earl, 

Open  your  eyes  and  see 
A  mournin',  pinin',  weepin'  gearl 

To  simpathise  with  thee. 

Oh  dear  !  if  you  knowd  my  distress, 

I'm  sure  'twould  raise  yer  dander, 
For  now  I  mourn  the  onfaithfulness 

Ot  my  once  true  Philander  ! 


118  WIDOW  SPRIG GIXS. 

And  like  enuff  (for  taint  oncommon 

For  earls  to  git  the  mitten)^ 
That  you've  ben  shipped  by  sum  young  woman, 

And  now  yer  heart  is  splittiu'. 

reace  to  yer  ashes,  sleepin'  swine, 

Dear  broken-hearted  creetur, 
'Tis  Milly  Kugglcs,  writes  these  lines, 

When  mornin'  cums  ye '11  meet  her. 

AYhen  Ide  writ  this  afFectin'  poem,  I  laid  it  in  Pike's 
Eithmetick  I  see  lyin'  there ;  then  I  turned  to  take  one 
more  look  of  the  young  man  abed  —  and  whether  or  no 
the  lontern  shinin'  in  his  eyes  woke  him  up  or  not  I  don't 
know ;  enny  how  he  opened  his  eyes  and  lookt  up  at  me  ; 
arter  starin'  at  me  a  spell  with  the  biggest  wonderation 
depictered  on  his  phizziogermy,  says  he  to  me,  says  he, 
**  Jimmini !  who  in  the  name  of  wonder  be  you?  " 

*'  Don't  ax  who  I  be,"  says  I,  **  jest  look  in  Pike's 
rithmetick  and  thattle  giv  ye  the  denowment  who  I  be." 

**  Pike's Eithmetic,"  says  he,  '*  I  know  a  man  about  my 
size  that  can  find  out  eeny  most  ennything  by  studdyin' 
out  on't  —  but  by  gu-m  !  I  don't  see  how  Ime  to  find  who 
you  be  if  T  cipher  out  on't  from  now  to  next  never." 

*«  Well,"  says  I,  "  you  look  right  next  the  kiver  and 
you'll  see."  So  sayin'  I  made  -a  curchy  and  vanished  into 
t'other  room  leavin'  my  lontern  behind. 

Arter  I  went  out  I  listend  to  the  door  and  heerd  him 
git  up  and  go  to  the  table  and  read  the  confusion  out  loud. 

Arter  he'd  read  it,  says  he,  *'  Jimmini  !  "  a  number  of 
times  —  then  I  heerd  him  a  mcndin'  a  pen  —  and  then  he 
begun  to  write  and  writ  for  ever  so  long.  At  last  I  got 
tired  listenin',  so  I  tho't  Ide  set  down  agin  ;  but  as  I  went 
to  beseat  myself  I  got  on  the  wrong  eend  of  the  cheer  — 


WIDOW  SrRIGGINS.  119 

(ye  know  'twas  turned  down)  —  and  it  let  me  right  onto 
the  floor,  and  it  made  sich  a  rachit  it  woke  up  Zady,  and 
she  hollerd  out,  "  Grandfer  Griffin  !  what  in  natur's  to 
pay?"  I  never  said  a  word.  «*  Arter  all,"  solliquized 
she,  "mabby  'twan't  nothin'  but  me  dreamin'."  So  sayin' 
she  crin  two  or  three  grunts  and  turned  over  and  went  to 
sleep  agin.  So  I  got  up,  fixt  the  cheer,  and  sot  down 
strait,  laid  my  head  on  the  table  and  went  to  sleep,  and 
dident  wake  up  agin  till  mornin' ;  and  then  my  neck  was 
so  stiff  holdin'  on't  so  long  in  that  betwistid  persition  that 
I  couldent  scerce  move  it  for  ever  so  long.  As  soon  as  it 
got  limberd  a  little  I  riz  and  arrannged  my  dress  and  went 
down  stairs,  leavin'  Zady  sound  asleep.  The  man  and 
woman  was  up,  and  arter  a  spell  Zady  got  up  and  cum 
thumpin'  down.  I  was  settin'  behind  the  door  so  she  did- 
ent see  me,  and  she  took  tew  pails  and  went  off  to  mllkin', 
and  the  woman  begun  to  get  breckfust,  and  says  she, 
"  Young  woman,  ye'll  have  to  be  sairved  as  the  rest  on 
us  be  —  for  the  master's  got  to  have  the  silver  spoon 
and  the  chany  teacup  and  sarcer." 

"  Well,  I  don't  ker,"  says  I,  "  Amandy  had  to  drink 
ut  of  a  noggin  to  old  Byrnes." 

«'  Who  had  tew?  "  says  she. 

«'  Amandy  Fitzalan,"  says  I. 

««  Sumbody  I  don't  know,"  says  she. 

Then  she  went  out  to  pull  sum  inyons,  and  whilst  she 
was  G-one  the  master  cum  down  —  he  dident  see  me  —  so 
I  kehawked  and  he  lookt  round. 

''  Good  mornin',  Miss  Ruggles,"  says  he,  makin'  a 
scrapin'  bow. 

"  Good  mornin'  to  yer  lordship,"  says  I,  curchyin'. 

Says  he, '*!  feel    extrornary  honored   by  the   visit   ye 


120  WIDOW  SFEIGGINS. 

made  me  last  night  —  and  that  poltry  !  Jimmini,  it's  fine  ! 
I  couldent  rest  till  Ide  writ  an  anser  to  it  —  for  Irae  a  polt 
of  considerble  merrit  myself — I've  had  a  number  of  arti- 
cles printed  in  that  are  well-conductid  perry odical,  the 
jNIohawk  iMeteor  and  Marcy  Kepublican.  You've  on- 
doLibtldly  seen  and  admired  the  poetical  countributions 
signed  '  The  Mudbow  Minstrel ; '  them's  mine.  I'm  no 
strannger  to  yer  repitation,  Miss  Ruggles,  for  Ime  an  inti- 
mit  frind  of  young  Spriggins  —  a  gret  admirer  of  yourn 
—  and  he  and  I  corrisponds  ;  his  pistles  is  full  of  your 
praises,  so  that  my  curiosity  to  behold  ye  had  arriven  to  a 
vv^onderful  pitch,  but  Ide  no  idee  of  it's  bein  gratifacted  in 
the  interestin'  monner  it  was  by  yer  morantic  visitation 
last  night." 

"But,"  says  I,  interruptin'  him,  **  ye  said  how't  ye 
v^^rit  an  anser  to  my  poim.     I  should  like  to  see  it." 

So  he  put  his  hand  in  his  pockit  and  took  out  a  foldid 
paper  containin'  45  amazin'  putty  vairses,  and  tho'  it 
would  take  tew  much  time  to  coppy  'em  all,  I  can't  help 
substractin'  a  few  on  'em.  Arter  guayne  on  to  say  ho\v't 
he  want  asleep  when  I  went  into  his  room,  but  ony  **  per- 
tendin'  for  to  sleep,"  he  continnys  in  the  foilerin  monner : 

•*  O  1  sicli  a  face  I  never  see 

Sence  I  on  airth  was  born  I 
'Twas  briglitest  noonday's  sun  to  me, 

With  bluslujiij  hues  of  morn. 

"And  then  I  seen  you  starin'  round, 

Jest  Uke  sura  creetur's  ghost, 
That  cum  to  fmd,  from  under  ground, 

Sumthin'  it  had  lost. 

"  And  tlien  my  pen  I  seen  you  take, 
My  paper,  ink,  and  cheer, 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  121 

And  tlion  set  down  all  for  to  make 
That  poitry  so  dear. 

"  And  o'er  the  sheet  the  pen  you  drew, 

In  rhyming  fury  dashing, 
And  from  yer  eyes  the  idees  flew, 

Like  lightning  bugs  a  flashing." 

Here  comes  in  a  number  of  stanzys  about  Mister 
Shakespeare,  rollin'  frenzy,  &c.  ;  and  then  he  goes  on,  — 

"  And  when  you'd  got  it  writ,  you  took 

And  put  it  in  my  Pike  — 
That  jewel  of  a  ciphering  book — 

You  must  a  knowd  I  like. 

"  By  day  I  read  that  rithmetick, 

It  occerpies  my  slumbers, 
'Twas  there  I  learnt  to  rhyme  so  slick, 

And  got  so  skilled  in  numbers. 

"  My  streekid  sky's  ben  black  and  blue, 

A  world  of  botheration, 
As  you  have  ben,  so  I've  ben  through 

A  sight  of  tribulation." 

Then  he  goes  on  to  tell  about  his  sorrers  —  how't  he'd 
ben  in  love  a  number  of  times  and  always  got  the  mitten, 
and  so  finally  made  up  his  mind  not  to  try  no  more  — 
but  taint  woth  while  to  subscribe  that  part,  as  there's  18 
vairses  on't.      So  he  continys,  — 

"Ah I  Shakespeare  says,—  " 

(I  spose  this  Mr.  Shakespeare's  sum  intimit  frind  of 
hissen.) 

"Ah  !  Shakespeare  says,  and  Shakespeare  knew, 

(To  you  and  me  that's  plain)  — 
That  true  love  never  did  run  true, 

But  always  cross  the  grain." 

11 


122  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

Then  he  goes  on  through  a  number  of  stanzys  to  dls- 
cribe  the  oncerting  natur  of  love  —  the  coldness  of  the 
world  in  gineral,  and  the  shemale  sect  in  perticler — the 
trials  that  genyus  has  to  undergo  —  and  at  last  eends  as 
follers,  — 

*'  Now  eence  in  rhyme  my  woes  and  struggles 

Ive  had  a  chance  to  pour  'em, 
He  jest  subscribe  myself,  Miss  Ruggles, 

Your  friend,  P.  Zebidek  Gobum." 

I  dident  read  all  the  poitry  then  ;  I  put  it  in  my  ridi- 
cule, and  arter  thankin'  the  master  for't,  says  I,  "  I  hope 
ye  won't  tell  these  folks  about  my  guayne  inter  yer  chom- 
ber  last  night ;  cause  if  ye  dew  they'll  think  the  driver 
telld  the  truth  when  he  said  I  was  crazy." 

*'  O  !  I  won't  mention  it,"  says  he,  *'  but  how  on  airth 
did  you  git  here  ?  " 

I  was  jest  a  guayne  to  conform  him,  when  Missis 
Hitchins  and  Zady  and  the  old  man  cum  in.  Zady  was 
betliunderstruck  to  see  me,  and  they  was  all  supprized 
eiiuff  when  the  master  introducted  me  to  'em.  Arter  tliat 
they  was  amazin'  perlite.  Well,  we  sot  down  to  breck- 
fust  —  but  I  must  resairve  whot  concurred  that  day  ('twas 
Sabberday  ye  know)  for  another  chopter. 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  123 


CHAPTER  X. 

«'  O  I  Sangerfield  I 
Where  is  thy  shield 
To  gard  agin  grim  death ! 
He  aims  his  guu 
At  every  one, 
And  fires  away  their  breath  I  " 

Sangerfield  Huddle  Bard. 

RTER  breckfust  I  axed  Mr.  HItcliins  if  Hoky  mut 
go  arter  my  chist,  and  he  said  seein'  'twas  me  and 
seein'  'twas  a  case  of  necesserty  he  mought,  tho' 
'twas  agin  his  principles  to  ride  anywhere  a  Sab- 
berday  ony  to  meetin'.  So  Hoky  he  put  on  his  Sundy 
clus,  and  tallerd  his  hair,  and  harnissed  the  bosses  to  the 
waggin  and  sot  off  for  Utica,  and  he  cum  hum  in  about 
tew  hours.  Missis  Hitchlns  axed  me  to  go  to  meetin'  with 
'em  —  (they  attendid  dervine  salrvice  to  New  Hartford, 
about  a  mild  from  there,)  but  I  telld  her  Ide  ruther  wait 
till  arternoon,  cause  my  chist  hadent  arrove  yit. 

*'  Well,"  says  she,  "  we  shant  be  hum  a  noontime,  so 
how'll  ye  find  the  way  to  meetin'  ?  " 

<'0!"  says  Mr.  P.  Zebidee  Gorum,  *«  He  stay  till 
arternoon  and  so  go  with  Miss  Ruggles." 

«' Well,"  says  she,  *' if  ye  want  anything  to  eat  ye'll 
find  a  platter  of  nutcakes  In  the  cubberd,  and  sum  cheese 
on  the  buttry  shelf." 

So  she   aud    Mr.  Hitchlns  and  Zady  sot  off  for  meetin', 


124  WWO  W  SPRIGGINS. 

and  I  and  the  master  was  left  alone  together,  and  we  con- 
vairsed  about  things  in  gineral,  and  I  discovered  that  Mr. 
Gorum  was  a  young  man  of  oncommon  bright  immagin- 
nation  and  highly  cultivated  mind.  I  axed  him  to  write 
me  an  ode  on  the  death  of  my  mother. 

**  Is  yer  mother  dead?  "  says  he. 

''  No,"  says  I,  '*  but  I  suspect  she  will  be  by  the  time 
I  get  hum."  So  sayin'  I  put  my  honkercher  to  my  eyes, 
and  was  dretfully  overcum  for  a  spell. 

Bymeby  Hoky  arrove  with  my  chist,  and  as  I  was  a 
guayne  out  in  the  stage  that  evenin'  I  reckond  I  wouldent 
have  it  carried  up  chomber.  So  I  took  out  my  kee  and 
onlocked  it,  and  took  out  sich  articles  as  I  contendid  to 
put  on,  and  went  up  into  Zady's  room  and  arrannged  my 
apparril. 

Beein'  a  very  warm  day  I  tho't  I  wouldn't  wear  no  bun- 
nit  to  meetin'.  So  I  done  up  my  auburn  tressis  with  my 
high-topptcomb,  tied  my  six  black  ostridge  fethers  together 
with  a  black  ribbin  and  stuck  ^em  in  my  head  —  ye  know 
I  had  on  my  black  rottenette  gownd  —  well,  I  rolled  up 
the  sleeves  to  make  'em  look  short,  and  put  on  my  long 
black  cambrick  gloves,  then  I  huv  my  black  long  shawl 
round  my  neck  and  pined  it  down  on  one  sholder  with  a 
black  bow  with  tew  eends  to't  much  as  a  yard  and  a  half 
long,  then  I  loopt  the  skeart  of  my  gownd  up  on  one  side 
and  pined  a  black  bow  on't  and  my  dress  was  completed, 
and  certingly  if  ever  a  creetur  lookt  interestiu'  I  did  that 
minnit  in  my  mournin'  habileations. 

Arter  I  was  drest  I  condesendid,  and  I  never  see  a  sur- 
prisder  creetur  than  the  master  was  —  he  was  quite  over- 
cum with  admireation,  and  declared  that  he  never  see  a 
more   charmin'  appcerance  than  what  I   persented   all  in 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  125 

black.  Well  he  went  Into  the  buttry  and  brung  me  a 
piece  of  cheese  on  a  fork,  and  then  he  went  to  the  cubberd 
and  fetched  me  a  wonderful  long  nutcake  on  another  fork. 
Then  he  helpt  himself  and  arter  we'd  eat  'em  he  said  'twas 
time  to  be  guayne.  So  I  took  my  parrysol  and  we  lockt 
arms  and  off  we  sot  for  meetin,  and  I  don't  bleeve  that 
tew  more  interestin'  beeins  ever  prerambleated  the  scrub- 
urbs  of  New  Hartford  afore  or  sen.  Mr.  Gorum  was 
drest  with  the  biggest  taste  ;  he  had  on  a  long-tailed  yaller 
thin  coat  and  nankeen  trowsis.  Well,  we  walkt  purty 
slow  and  when  we  got  to  meetin'  the  folks  had  most  on 
'em  arrove  there,  and  as  he  walkt  up  the  broad  ile  the  peo- 
ple stared  at  us  as  if  they  was  bethunderstruck.  The  min- 
ister was  a  readin'  the  sam  and  he  stoppt  as  much  as  a 
minnit ;  but  Missis  Hitchins  and  Zady  was  surprisder  than 
anybody  else.  I  never  extracted  so  much  attention  in  my 
life  as  I  did  that  day  in  the  New  Hartford  presbiteerian 
meetin'  house  —  once  in  the  sairmon  the  minister  illuded  to 
the  sorrers  and  disappintments  of  airth,  and  I  groaned  out 
loud,  and  everybody  lookt  round  at  me,  and  sum  onfeelin 
folks  lafFt ;  then  the  minister  he  lookt  awful  mad,  and 
stoppin'  right  short  in  his  dizcourse,  says  he,  "  My  frinds, 
the  sanctooerry  aint  no  place  to  be  merry."  So  they 
stoppt  laffin,  and  the  men  folks  ginerally  stoppt  starin', 
but  the  wimrain  folks  couldent  help  peekin'  round  once  in 
a  while. 

Bymeby  meetin'  was  out  and  we  went  hum,  and  arter 
tea  I  arrannged  my  dress  for  travellin',  and  about  six 
o'clock  the  stage  cum  along.  I  axed  Mr.  Hitchins  what 
was  the  dammidge,  but  he  wouldent  take  nothin'.  So  I 
thanked  him  and  then  I  had  a  very  afFectionit  partin'  with 
Mr.  Gorum,  (he  was  ividently  took  with  me)  and  then  I 
11* 


126  WID  0  W  SFEIG  GI^'S. 

got  into  the  stage  and  starticl  for  Podunk.  There  was  five 
men  folks  in  the  stage ;  all  on  'em  oncommon  ruffins  but 
one,  and  he  was  sich  an  attracktyve  man  I  can't  liel^^  dc- 
scribin'  on  him ;  he  had  a  very  dignified  but  summat 
stairrin'  phizziogermy  —  tho'  when  he  addrested  himself  to 
me  a  brand  smile  played  over  his  feeters  —  but  I  never  see 
the  beat  of  his  conversationable  powers  afore  nor  sen.  The 
other  passengers  was  electrificated  by  his  eloquation,  and 
dident  say  but  very  little,  and  no  wonder  !  He  was  talkin' 
about  Utica  when  I  got  in,  and  it  was  ivident  that  he  was 
a  resider  of  that  citty. 

"  Gentlemen,"  says  he,  **  our  citty  is  the  sentre  of  the 
State  —  I  may  say  of  the  United  States.  It  is  as  remark- 
erble  for  its  intairnal  arranngements  as  it  is  for  the 
inlightenment  and  infermation  of  its  inhabiters.  It  is 
in  all  respects  very  fur  previous  to  Phelidelphy.  New  York 
itself  can't  hold  a  candle  to  it.  Gentlemen  !  where  will 
ye  find  such  refinement  of  mongers  and  eleguance  of  ap- 
peerence  as  the  ladies  of  our  city  pozzess  ?  and  where  sich 
intellectitude  of  mind  —  sich  profoundify  of  tallents  — 
sich  overwhelming  and  captivatin'  abillyties  as  our  men  of 
sighence  egsibit  ?  our  young  men  partickleary  • —  I  may 
safely  say  they  are  previous  to  any  other  young  men  in 
the  United  States,  and  subzequent  to  nun  in  the  univairt^e." 
Then  turning  to  me  with  a  ravishin'  smile,  says  he,  *'  Mum, 
have  ye  ever  been  in  Utica,  mum  ?  " 

"  Yis,"  says  .1,  syin'  "I  was  there  yisterday  under 
very  distressin'  circumstences." 

*' Ah!"  says  he,  with  a  very  greaceful  inclineation  of 
his  boddy,  "  may  I  enquire  what  distressin'  ok-kurrence 
ok-kurred?"  So  I  recountered  the  hull  of  my  history 
from  beginnin'  to  eend,  and  when  Ide  finnishid,  says  he, 
with  another  greaceful  inclineation, — 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  127 

*'  It  seems  to  me,  mum,  you've  ben  the  artifisher  of  yer 
own  misfortins'  by  givin'  way  to  the  senslbilitude  with 
which  you  are  indewed  by  natur'  —  the  egshuberance  of 
your  Immaggination  and  vivacitude  of  your  sperrits  has  in- 
tirely  outstript  your  discretionery  powers,  mum." 

Jest  then  we  cum  to  Little  Falls,  and  the  four  codgers 
got  out  and  a  remarkerble  ginteel  woman  and  a  little  boy 
about  five  year  old  got  in.  It  was  considerble  dark  and  I 
couldent  see  her  feeters  extmctly,  but  putty  soon  she  spoke 
to  the  little  boy,  and  I  recognatid  her  voice  in  a  minnit. 

*'  Goody  gracious,  Miss  Van  Dusen  !  "  says  I. 

* '  Mairciful  heavens  !  my  dear  Permilly  !  "  says  she  — 
and  we  huv  ourselves  into  one  another's  arms. 

O  !  if  there  is  a  minnit  when  the  heart-broken  sperrit 
feels  as  if  it  would  go  off  the  handle  with  joy,  'tis  when  long 
severatid  frinds  onexpectedly  meets  !  For  a  spell  we 
strainded  one  another  in  a  silent  imbrace  without  utteratin' 
a  sillybull  ony  jackllation  —  "  O  !  Miss  Yan  Dusen  !  " 
**  O  !  Permilly  !  "  —  at  which  Mr.  Spluttergut,  the  gentle- 
man from  Utica,  seemed  mucli  affectid.  When  we  was 
recoveratid  from  our  jouful  supprise  I  axed  her  where  she 
was  guayne,  and  she  conformed  me  that  she  was  a  guayne 
to  visit  her  relatyves  in  Durrup,  and  that  she  had  ben 
married  a  number  of  year  to  Squire  Stokes,  one  of  the  fust 
men  in  Little  Falls. 

"  Do  tell !"  says  I,  "  and  is  this  ere  sweet  little  cheru- 
bim yer  son  ?  " 

''  Yis,"  anserd  she,  "  my  on'y  son." 

*'  What's  yer.  name,  you  little  darlin'?  "  says  I,  kissin' 
of  him  —  but  instid  of  anserin'  he  begun  to  beller,  and  his 
mother  said  he  was  dretful  sensatyve  ;  always  cry'd  when 
stranngers  spoke  to  him  —  "  his  name's  Lord  ]Morthner," 


128  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

continyd  she,  *'  I  wantid  to  giv  him  a  cognomer  that  wo'd 
sound  well  in  congriss  —  I  intend  he  shall  write  it  <  L. 
Mortimer  Stokes.'" 

*'  Charmin'  name,"  says  I.  Then  she  axed  me  where  I 
was  guayne  ?  And  I  begun  to  the  begiunin'  of  my  history 
artcr  I  left  her  siminary  and  tell'd  her  the  hull,  and  she 
was  very  much  afFectid. 

"  O  !  "  says  she,  *'  I  knowd  that  yer  sensatyve  and  mo- 
rantic  nater  woold  have  to  suffer  wonderfully  from  the  cold 
onfeelin'  world."  Then  she  went  on  advisin'  of  me  to  re- 
cipperate  Jabezes  affection,  say  in',  that  a  heart  like  hisen 
was  woth  possessni',  and  more'n  all  that  'twas  time  I  was 
settled  down. 

Well,  bime-by  we  arrove  to  DuiTup,  (or  Skenackedy, 
as  sum  calls  it,)  and  Missis  Stokes  invitid  me  to  accompa- 
nate  her  to  her  father-in-law's  and  beein'  eeny  most  tired 
out,  for  we'de  rid  all  night,  I  thought  I  would.  So  we 
got  out  and  I  axed  Mr.  Spluttergut  to  call  on  me  if  ever 
he  cum  our  way,  and  he  wantid  to  be  conformed  where  I 
resided  ;  and  I  tell'd  him  in  the  villidge  of  Podunk.  *'  Ah, 
egzactly,"  says  he,  with  a  greaceful  inclineation,  "I  re- 
member the  loquation  very  well  now  —  it's  a  short  distance 
previous  to  Schaticoke." 

"  Jest  so,"  says  I.  So  then  we  sepperatid,  and  I  never 
see  a  bow  that  was  a  sircumstence  to  the  one  he  made  at 
our  partin'. 

Then  my  former  instructoress  and  me  winded  our  way 
to  Mr.  Stokesis,  and  the  old  folks  was  wonderful  glad  to 
see  Silly,  as  they  called  her,  (her  name  was  Prisilly  nater- 
ally,)  and  I  raly  tho't  they'd  eat  up  little  Lord  Mortimer, 
and  they  was  very  perlite  to  me  tew,  and  said  that  if  Ide 
stay  till  arter  dinner  they'de  send  me  hum  in  their  ^vaggin, 


ijKi' 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  129 

and  so  I  concluclid  I  would,  **  tho'  ev'iy  minnit,"  jackilatid 
I,  '*  that  restrains  me  from  my  adored  mother  seems  like 
an  etarnity  of  a  hmidred  year."  Well,  we  had  dinner,  and 
then  Philo  Stokes  —  the  old  folksis  youngest  son  —  got 
the  waggin  reddy,  and  arter  tellin'  the  Stokesis  to  cum  to 
Podunk,  Missis  Silly  Stokes  perticklearly,  and  imbracin' 
her  tenderly,  I  and  my  chiet,  and  Philo  set  off  for  Podunk. 
We  orot  there  about  4  o'clock,  and  as  we  was  a  drivin'  into 
the  villidge,  I  cryin'  and  ringin'  my  hands  distractiously, 
we  met  Mr.  Smith,  the  onfeelin'  postmaster,  and  says 
he,  — 

* '  No  wonder  ye  cry ;  ye've  ben  the  means  of  yer  poor 
mother  '*  — 

*'  Ben  the  means  on  her,"  says  I. 

**Yis,"  anserd  he,  "Missis  Smith  says  she  haint  a 
doubt  but  what  'twas  takin'  on  about  you  sot  her  into  the 
dizorder  she  died  on  —  she  was  berried  yesterday." 

When  he  said  that  I  sunk  faintin'  away  in  the  bottom  of 
the  waggin  —  jest  as  Amandy  did  when  her  father  died  — 
and  I  remaindid  onsensible  till  we  got  to  father's.  Philo 
was  eny  most  skeart  to  death.  ^^What  ails  ye?"  says  he. 
*'  Pve  faintid  away,"  retorterd  I,  "ye  must  git  sumbody 
to  help  ye  lift  me  out  when  we  git  to  father's."  So  he 
druv  as  tight  as  ever  he  could  and  eny  most  jolted  me  to 
death,  and  seein'  father  to  work  in  the  feeld  he  hollered  to 
him. 

*'  Hullo  !  Mr.  Ruggles,  cum  and  help  git  yer  dorter 
out  of  the  waggin — she  says  she's  faintid  away."  So 
father  he  cum,  and  he  and  Philo  hawld  me  out  head  fust 
and  eny  most  kilt  me  doin'  on't.  Ketury  she  cum  runniii' 
out,  and  with  her  resistence  I  manidged  to  git  into  tlie 
house  and  onto  the. bed.     Ketury  she  sot  down  ayide  of  me 


130  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

and  father   he    sot   down  and  went  to    mendin'   the   hoe 
handle. 

Arter  Ide  staid  onsensible  a  spell,  I  open'd  my  eyes  and 
says  I,  "Is  it  true  that  my  belovid  mother's  dead?" 
*'  Yis,"  says  father  says  he,  "  dead  as  a  door  nail,  and  I 
hope  now  you've  cum  hum  ye'll  try  to  behave  better'n  ye 
did  afore  ye  went  away  —  there's  enufF  to  be  did  ;  for  sen 
Mirtilly  got  marrid,  ev'ry  thing's  gone  to  rack." 
* >  Mirtilly  marrid  ?  "  interrigorid  I. 

**Yis,"    says    father,    **  she's    marrid    marchant    Van 

Snorter  —  and  did  well  tew^  —  he's  a  makin'  money  fast." 

"  Grandfer  grievous!  "    says  I,   "  well,  I  'spose  Jake 

jest  took  her  'cause  she  was  my  sister ;  but  she's  a  fool  to 

git  marrid  so  young,  she's  six  year  younger'n  I  be." 

*'  She  may  be,"  says  father,  "  and  not  be  no  chicken 
nyther  —  the  fact  is,  Milly,  you're  gittin'  along,  and  lie 
bet  a  beef  critter  ye'll  be  an  old  maid." 

*' Me  an  old  maid?"  says  I,  «*  He  tell  ye  what,  old 
feller,  there's  more  young  men  than  you  could  shake  a  stick 
at  that  would  jump  sky  high  to  git  me." 

"  I  gess  they'de  jump  sky  high  arter  they'de  got  ye." 
says  he. 

I  lookt  at  my  hoggish  payrent  w^ith  a  look  of  suverin' 
contemp,  and  riz  up  and  went  into  my  chombcr  —  Ketury 
follerin'  —  and  I  tell'd  Ketury  I  wanted  to  visit  my  .mother's 
grave,  and  she  said  she'd  go  long.  So  I  huv  Ketury 's 
black  vail  over  my  head  —  put  my  pencil  and  paper  in  my 
ridicule  —  and  we  sot  off.  As  we  went  along,  me  groanin' 
and  sobbin'  the  wost  way,  ev'ry boddy  st-ared  out  of  the 
housen  at  me  ;  but  I  never  lookt  at  nobody.  Well,  we 
cum  to  the  grave-yard  and  clum  over  the  fence  and  went 
up  to  mother's  grave.     It  had  ben  a  rainin'  and  the  grass 


WID  0  W  SPRIG  GINS.  131 

was  as  wet  as  muck,  but  what  did  I  ker !  I  huv  myself 
onto  the  ground  and  gin  utteration  to  my  greef  jest  as 
Amandy  did  at  her  mother's  grave.  "  O  !  "  says  I,  *'  it 
would  a  ben  better  if  this  spot  had  a  receeved  both  the 
mother  and  the  dorter  at  the  same  minnit ;  better  by  a  jug 
full  than  for  me  to  live  to  mourn  over  blastid  hops  and  ag- 
onizin'  vikissltudes  !  but  how  perzumptuous  am  I  to  ropine 
at  the  will  of  creation !  "  Sich  was  my  words  at  my 
mother's  grave,  where  I  sot 

"  Like  a  fair  lilly  surcharged  with  tears."  * 

Then  I  tell'd  Ketury  she  needent  wait  for  me  —  so  she 
went  hum  —  and  I  took  out  my  pencil  and  paper  and  writ 
the  foUerin'  stanzys  in  about  15  minnits  : 

THE  DISAPPINTED. 

*'  O I  what  a  cat-a-strophy  dire 

In  Poduuk  did  befall, 
When  she  was  called  for  to  ixpire, 

And  leave  us  mournin'  all. 

O  !  never  was  there  greef  afore 

Like  that  of  poor  Permilly : 
That  fair  and  interestin' flower: 

That  pale  and  droopin'  lilly. 

My  heart  is  broke  ;  my  P.  estrannged, 

My  fond  affections  crushed, 
My  plans  of  futur'  bliss  derannged, 

And  all  my  prospects  squshed. 

The  world  onfeelin',  cruil,  cold, 

Looks  on  with  wonderin'  eye, 
My  misery  for  to  behold  — 

I  certingly  shall  die. 

*  Childern  of  the  Abby :  don't  remember  which  chopter. 


132  WIDOW  SPRIGGINS. 

And  when  at  last  my  heart-strings  snap, 

And  all  my  woes  is  dun, 
O  take  the  follerin'  epitap 

And  'scribe  it  on  my  stun : 

♦»  0 1  strannger,  stop  and  wipe  yer  eyes,      ^ 

And  spend  a  minuit  weepin' ; 
A  broken-hearted  sperrit  lies 

Beneath  this  tombstun  sleepin'." 

I  soon  arter  sent  these  vairses  to  Mr.  Gonim,  and  he 
had  'em  insairted  in  * '  The  Mohawk  Meteor  and  Marcy 
Republican,"  with  the  folio  win'  paragrab  atop  of  'em. 

**  The  insuin'  eloquant  and  touchin'  stanzys  are  from  the 
quill  of  a  young  lady,  who,  tho'  yit  in  the  highday  of 
youthful  facksination,  is  ividently  dyin'  of  a  broken  heart 
—  her  most  sangunary  prospects  blited  in  the  bud.  What 
heart  will  not  bust !  What  soul  will  not  dissolve  !  What 
gizzard  will  not  split,  on  perusin'  'em  —  dictatid  as  they  be 
by  ginnuine  inspireation."  Arter  Ide  compleatid  'em  I 
returned  to  the  poternal  ruff. 

Note  a  bean.  — Mr.  eddyter:  In  gineral  I've  been  very  much  gratifacted  by 
the  monner  in  which  you  or  your  men  folks  has  printid  my  life ;  tliere  ain't  but 
jest  one  thing  I  feel  to  complain  on,  and  that  is,  the  way  ye  spell, my  mother's 
name.  'Twant  Vine  nore  Vin^,  as  it's  ben  onvariably  printid  in  your  paper,  but 
it  was  Viny.  I  ony  write  this  for  to  let  folks  know  how't  my  moterual  payrent 
hadent  sich  a  barbarious  coguomer  as  what  they  spose  for. 


WIDOW  SPRIGGINS.  133 


CHAPTEK  XI. 


"  Now  the  capting  loved  her  dearly, 
Loved  her  as  he  did  his  life, 
And  seeiu'  she  was  left  so  drearly, 
Sally  became  the  capting's  wife." 


ELL,  tew  weeks  passed  away  In  the  most  molan- 
clioly  monner  —  the  state  of  my  mind  wouldent 
admit  me  to  ingage  in  no  occerpation  if  Ide  a 
wanted  tew.  Father  he  jawed  cause  I  dklent 
work,  and  Nadab  and  Abihu  made  fun  on  me.  I  dident 
do  nothin'  but  romble  in  the  woods  and  medders  mournin' 
and  making  poitry.  On  the  hull  my  sittyation  was  most 
miserably  interestin'.  I  tell  ye  I  mist  the  Childern  of  the 
Abby  (Spriggins  had  it  ye  know).  If  Ide  a  had  that 
twould  a  ben  a  gret  comfort  to  me,  and  the  circumstence 
of  my  thinkin'  so  much  about  the  enchantin'  vollums  con- 
duced me  sumtimes  to  think  about  the  swine  Ide  lent  'em 
tew,  and  thinks  me,  he's  more  like  Lord  Mortimer  arter 
all  than  ary  feller  I  ever  knowd,  for  he  sticks  to  me  thro' 
thick  and  thin  jest  as  Lord  Mortimer  did  to  Amandy,  and 
then  I  rememberd  Missis  Stokeses  advice  to  me  in  the 
stage,  and  puttin',  all  things  together,  my  feelins  was  con- 
siderable channged,  and  I  felt  my  sentimlnts  towerds  the 
youthful  Jabez  grown  oncommon  tender. 

O  !  woman  is  a  fraggle  and  lovin'  creetur.     The  she- 
male  heart  is  so  chuck  full  of  affection  that  its  purty  on- 
12 


134  WW  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

possible  to  use  it  all  up  on  one  bein'.  Who,  I  ax,  would 
want  to  live  in  this  ere  cold,  onfeelin'  world  without  a 
kindred  sperret  to  share  its  joys  and  sorrers  with?  and 
when  the  swine  that  a  young  woman  has  placed  her  affec- 
tions on  prove  onconstant  it's  a  pity  if  she  maytent  bestow 
her  heart  on  another  more  worthier  one,  and  I  haint  a 
speck  of  doubt  but  what  Amandy'd  a  married  Sir  Charles 
Bingley  if  Lord  Mortimer  had  a  ben  raly  faithless,  and 
it's  a  pity  if  I've  got  to  be  a  dried  up  old  maid  jest  a  cause 
Philander  got  married. 

Sich  was  my  circumflexions  as  I  sot  one  day  under  the 
gret  ellum  tree  that  growd  afore  our  house.  I  must  a 
lookt  very  interestin'  a  settin'  there  in  profound  pondera- 
tion.  1  had  on  a  black  skeart,  and  over  it  my  white  long 
short  with  a  row  of  black  crape  loopt  up  round  the  bottom 
on't ;  then  I  had  my  leno  vail  wound  round  my  head  for 
a  turbin,  and  my  ostridge  fethers  stuck  into't,  and  there  I 
sot  a  leanin'  on  my  elbow,  now  sythin'  and  now  wipin'  off 
a  tear  that  strickled  down  my  cheek.  Arter  continuin'  my 
medifications  a  spell,  I  took  out  my  pencil  and  writ  the 
fbllerin'  piece  of  blank  poitry  :  — 

A  FRAGMENT. 

O  !  she  was  fair  I  no  anngel  ever  was 
Nor  ever  could  be  fairer  than  Permilly; 
Her  auburn  hair  in  greaceful  tresses  did 
Hang  down  upon  her  sholders  only  jest 
When  she  did  stick  it  up  with  her  high  comb. 
Her  eyes  was  blue,  her  skin  was  snowy,  and 
Her  cheeks  was  red  as  roses  only  jest     • 
When  she  was  in  distress,  then  they  was  as 
White  as  tew  lillies  :  but  neverstandin'  all 
Her  beauty  and  her  charms,  she  had  as  much 
Troul^lc  as  any  creetur  ever  had. 
The  swine  she  loved  so  well  was  faithless  and 
Went  off  and  wed  another  maid;  and  then 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  135 

It  seemd  as  if  Permilly's  heart  would  bust. 
O  I  what  a  tender  thing  the  shemale  heart  is ! 
So  crammin',  jammin',  full  of  love  and  truth, 
And  faith,  and  hope,  and  pure  affection,  and^ 
Some  other  things  too  numerous  to  mention  I 
No  wonder  when  it's  stuft  so  dretful  full 
A  little  blow  should  bust  it  —  for  it  must 
Be  ivident  to  all  obsairvin'  folks 
That  when  it's  filld  so  full,  the  skin  outside 
Must  be  streckt  dietfully  and  always  in 
Danger  of  bustin'.  —  So  Permilly's  heart 
Has  bust,  and  all  the  overplus  run  out, 
But  still  there's  quite  a  considerable  of 
Love  and  aJfection  in  it  yit,  and  she 
Has  purty  nigh  made  up  her  mind  to  giv 
What's  left  to  some  more  worthier  object  than 
The  faithless  one.    O  I  haste  upo^i  the  wings  of 
Love,my  dear  Jabez  — your  Perrailly  feels  as 
If  she  could  scarcely  wait  a  minnit  longer 
For  to  behold  thee,  Jabez  —Jabez,  haste. 

When  Ide  finished  writin'  the  oversuin'  lines  I  was  jest 
a  guayne  to  retire  into  the  house  when  I  heerd  sumbody 
blowin'  his  nose ;  so  I  lookt  up  the  road  and  as  sure  as 
Ime  a  livin'  creetur  'twas  Jabez  Spriggins  a  hossback. 
The  minnit  I  see  him  I  run  down  street  to  meet  him,  and 
when  h6  see  me  cummin'  he  got  right  off  his  hoss  and  cum 
towerds  me.  Well,  I  run  right  up  and  ketcht  holt  on  him, 
exclamigatin',    **  O  !    my  Jabez  !    I'me  overjoiced  to  see 

ye." 

He  lookt  wonderful  supprised,  and  says  he,  *' I  dident 
suspect  to  find  ye  so  cosy,  but  I'm  darned  glad  ye  be. 
The  minnit  I  heerd  ye'd  cum  hum  I  detairmined  to  follow 
ye,  but  I  had  to  wait  till  my  quarter  was  out  afore  I  could 
cum,  and  the  fust  day  arter  my  quarter  was  out  I  got  on 
my  creetur  and  sot  off  arter  ye  for  fear  I  should  lose  ye  if 
I  dident  hurry  —  I've  got  that  are  speech  of  Lord  Morti- 


136  WID  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

mer's  all  by  heart ;  ben  a  sayin'  on't  over  all  along  the 
roads  so's  not  to  forgit  it,  and  I  ruther  guess  I  can  say  the 
hull  on't  without  missin'  a  word." 

Well,  I  rushered  him  into  the  square  room  and  sot 
down,  and  he  cum  up  to  me  and  says  he  to  me,  "  To  call 
you  mine  is  the  haight  of  my  wishes  —  on  your  derision  ! 
I  rest  for  happiness.     O  !  my  Amandy  !  "  — 

*<  Say  *  O  !  my  Permilly  ! '  "  says  I. 

' «  O  !  my  Permilly  !  —  O  !  my  Permilly  !  —  there  I 
swon  I've  got  up  a  stump,"  says  he. 

*«  No  matter,"  says  I,  **  you've  proved  to  my  satisfica- 
tion  the  devotedness  of  yer  attachment,  and  He  be  yourn." 

'*  Will,  hay?"  says  he. 

*'Yis,"says  I,  *' now  ye  must  imprint  a  kiss  on  my 
rosy  cheek."  ■  So  he  went  to  kiss  me  and  whiskt  off  my 
turbin.  Arter  Ide  got  my  turbin  adjested  agin,  says  he, 
**  Well,  when  will  you  be  reddy  to  git  married?" 

*<  Right  off,"  says  I. 

«<  Well,"  says  he,  *'Ile  go  and  talk  to  the  old  man 
about  it." 

*'No,  ye  needn't,"  says  I,  *' father  never'll  consent  on 
airth  —  he's  dretfully  oppozed  to  my  gittin'  marriect —  but 
He  have  ye  neverstandin',  and  He  tell  ye  how  we'll  man- 
age. You  2;it  on  yer  boss  and  0:0  strait  to  Utica  and  wait 
there  till  I  cum,  and  He  contrive  to  get  there  afore  long." 

*'  That's  the  checker,"  says  he. 

So  he  surmounted  his  boss  and  rid  off,  and  I  went  in  and 
telld  Ketury  all  about  it,  cause  I  knowd  she  wouldent  tell 
nobody.  Says  I,  "  I  shall  clear  right  out,  and  if  father 
axes  arter  me  you  tell  him  I've  gone  over  to  Skaticoke  to 
see  Mirtilly"  (Mirtilly  had  moved  to  Skaticoke).  Ketury 
was  dretful  pleased  and  said  she'd  do  jest  as  I  telld  her  to ; 


WIDOW  SFEIGGmS.  137 

and  she  promised  to  have  my  chist  sent  over  to  me  as  soon 
as  possible.  So  she  and  I  we  took  a  gret  work  pockit  and 
put  my  consairns  into't  that  I  wantid  to  be  married  in  — 
then  I  put  on  my  travellin'  habitations  and  arter  imbracin' 
Ketury  I  sot  off  for  Dorrup.  Well,  'twas  five  mile  there, 
and  when  I  got  there  the  stage  had  went  out.  So  I  went 
over  to  old  Mister  Stokeses  and  telld  'em  Ide  found  my 
mother  dead  and  concluded  to  go  right  back  to  Higgins 
Patent  cause  Ide  ort  to  be  in  my  simminary.  Well,  they 
telld  me  that  old  Mr.  Stokes  was  a  guayne  to  Utica  in  the 
mornin'  on  bizness  in  his  own  ^vaggin,  and  if  I  was  a  mind 
to  I  mut  go  with  him.  *<  Well,"  says  I,  *'  I  reckx)n  I 
will." 

**  But,"  says  Missis  Stokes,  **  where's  yer  chist?  " 
*<  O  !  "  says  I,  "  I  reckond  I  wouldent  be  bothered  with 
it,  and  they're  a  guayne  to  send  it  on."  Well,  I  stayd 
there  all  night,  and  in  the  mornin'  we  sot  off  for  Utica. 
Old  Stokes  dident  drive  very  tight,  and  so  we  was  three 
days  a  guayne  to  Utica  —  but  as  I  want  to  eend  my  Rec- 
ollections in  this  chopter,  I  won't  tell  nothin'  about  the 
jerney,  tho'  it  was  quite  eventerful. 

We  arrove  to  Utica  jest  at  the  edge  of  the  evenin'  and 
stoppt  to  Baggsis  tavern,  and  I  axt  for  a  room  and  then  I 
drest  myself  as  follers.  I  opend  my  gret  ridicule  and  took 
out  my  white  long  short  and  put  it  on,  and  thinkin'  Ide 
ort  to  have  sum  colors  about  me  I  betwisted  a  yaller  ribbin 
round  the  black  crape  trimmin'  on  the  bottom  on't  —  then 
I  put  on  my  blue  sash,  and  huv  my  artifishel  reath  ker- 
lessly  round  my  sholders,  then  I  done  up  my  hair  with  my 
high-toppt  comb  —  took  my  leno  vail  and  fastened  one 
eend  on't  into  my  comb,  and  so  let  it  float  over  my  shol- 
ders—  then  I  stuck  my  six  ostridge  fethers  in  on  side  of 
12* 


138  WID  0  W  SPRIG  GINS. 

my  comb,  and  tied  a  pink  ribbin  round  my  head  to  keep 
'em  in  —  and  I  tell  ye  I  did  look  compleat. 

Beein'  thus  atj;ired  I  took  my  parrysol  and  sot  out  to 
look  up  Sprip:gins,  and  you  never  in  all  yer  born  days  see 
sich  a  starin'  as  there  was  whilst  I  walkt  up  Ginnisee 
Street  —  everybody  cum  to  the  doors  and  winders,  and 
ever  so  menny  men  and  boys  followerd  arter  me  a  hoorawin' 
and  makin'  a  turrible  fuss  —  but  I  was  so  akustomed  to 
admireation  I  didn't  mind  it  a  bit,  but  plummenaded  along 
with  the  biggest  onconsairn  and  dignitude.  Well,  arter 
preambleatin'  a  number  of  streets,  finally  I  cunj  round  to 
a  place  they  called  the  **  Reading  Room,"  and  I  stopt  to 
the  door  and  looked  in.  The  room  was  full  of  gentlemen, 
and  as  sure  as  a  gun,  in  the  midst  on  'em  was  Mister 
Spluttergut  (the  gentleman  I  met  in  the  stage),  and  he 
was  a  harangewin  on  'em  with  the  most  oncomparalleled 
eloquence,  and  they  was  all  a  listenin'  with  the  biggest 
attention. 

Well,  whilst  I  was  a  listenin'  to  the  surprisin'  and  capti- 
vatin'  sentiments  he  pored  forth  consairnin'  railroads  and 
canawls,  I  see  suthin'  yaller  a  stickin'  up  amonkst  a  mess 
of  heads  in  the  fur  eend  of  the  room,  and  whilst  I  was  a 
wonderin'    what  'twas,  the   heads   moved,  and   lo   and  be- 
hold !  'twas  the  tip   top   of  Jabczes  hair.     As  soon  as  I 
see   him  I  skriekt  out,    '*  My  Jabez  !  My  Jabez  !  "  and 
rushed  into  tlie  room  —  Jabez  he  see  me  and  he  lookt  sur- 
j^rised   enufF  —  we   squoze  thro'  the  men,    and   when   we 
reaclit  one  another  I  huv  myself  faintin'  into   the  arms  of 
my   adorin'  Spriggins.     I   never  see  a   surprisder   set  of 
folks  tlian  the  men  in  the  Utica  Readin'  Room  was  that 
minnit.     They  all  gin   way  and  fixt  a  seat  for  me — even 
Mister    Spluttergut    stopt    his     harangew,    exclamigatin', 
*'  Quite  an  ok-kurrence." 


WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS.  139 

Well,  arter  a  spell  one  of  the  young  men  hikl  a  lit  segar 
to  my  nose,  and  that  fetcht  me  tew.  So  I  riz  up  and  takin' 
hold  of  Sprigglnses  arm  we  perceedid  to  Baggses  hotel. 
Arter  we  arrove  there  Jabez  axed  me  whether  Ide  be  mar- 
ried there  or  wait  till  we  got  to  Higglns  Patent. 

*'  O  here,  certlngly,"  says  I,  ''in  this  ere  celebrated  ho- 
tel—  in  the  o^inteelest  sittv  in  creation." 

So  Spriggins  went  arter  the  justice,  and  there  we  w^as 
marrid.  As  soon  as  the  serrymony  was  overdone,  husband 
he  calld  for  some  pie  and  cheeze,  and  after  weed  eat  it  he 
brung  up  his  boss,  and  as  soon  as  Ide  arrannged  my  trav- 
ellin'  dress,  he  surmounted  his  creetur,  and  I,  resisted  by 
a  number  of  gentlemen,  got  on  behind  him,  and  I  swonny 
I  bleevc  the  hull  town  of  Utica  was  collectid  to  see  us  go, 
and  w^hen  we  whipt  up  the  hoss  and  sot  off,  they  gin  three 
all-to-pieces  cheers,  in  honor  of  us.  Well,  we  went  as 
fast  as  the  hoss  could  go  with  sich  an  oncommon  heft  and 
arrove  to  Higgins  Patent  about  leven  o'clock  at  night. 
Mother  and  Father  Spriggins  was  abed,  but  they  got  up 
and  I  tell  ye  they  was  aw^ful  glad  to  see  me.  The  next 
arternoon  Aunt  Huldy  made  quite  an  extensyve  set  down 
for  me,  and  if  I  dident  cut  a  sworth  it's  no  matter.  But  I 
hadent  ort  to  be  tellin'  what  took  place  arter  we  was 
marrid  —  'cause  the  Childern  of  the  Abby  don't  say  a  word 
consairnin  Amandy  arter  her.  marridge  —  no  more  don't  no 
other  novil  I  ever  read  say  nothin'  about  the  herowines 
arter  they  git  marrid.  Howsumever,  I  can't  help  tellin' 
how't  we  took  a  bridle  tour  the  next  week  to  all  the  most 
cclebratid  places  in  the  kentry  —  Utica,  Rome,  Whites- 
burrow,  Sockwait  Springs,  and  Verona  Spa  —  and  I  kept 
a  jernal  along  the  road,  and  when  P.  Zebidee  Gorum  cum 
a  visitin'  to  see  us  I  sliow'd  it  to  him,  and  it  affordid  him 


140  WIDOW  SPRIG  GINS. 

the  biggest  satisfication  ;  and  it's  in  my  persession  yit  — 
and  mabby  at  sum  futur  day  He  lay  it  afore  the  pubHc. 

"  The  eend  of  all  the  woes  and  struf^^gles, 
And  trials  of  Permilly  Ruggles." 

Note  a  bean.  — Mister  eddyter  :  You  ondoutedly  know- 
that  arter  injoyin'  15  year  of  the  biggest  conjuggial  felic- 
itude,  my  adored  companion,  my  beloved  Jabez^  was  took 
from  me  by  a  dizeaze  in  the  spine  of  his  back ;  but  mabby 
you've  never  ben  conformed  that  arter  mournin'  the  west 
way  for  sevei-al  year  I  finally  united  my  destination  to  that 
of  P.  Zebidee  Gorum,  (now  deacon  Gorum,)  he  havin'  ben 
married  and  lost  his  pardner.  My  Recollections  was  writ 
durin'  the  mawlancolly  perriod  of  my  widderhood  —  but  as 
the  circumstences  attendin'  my  second  marriage  was  quite 
interestin',  the  deacon  has  advised  me  to  write  an  account 
on  ^em  for  the  bennefit  of  the  risin'  gineration ;  so  if  ever 
you  git  run  ashore  for  stuff  to  put  in  yer  paper,  jest  let  me 
know,  and  if  I  aint  too  much  occerpied  with  my  domestic 
abberations,  He  be  happy  to  giv  ye  sum  account  of  my 
"  second  love.^' 

Yourn  to  everlastin' 

Permilly  R.  Spriggins  Gorum. 


MARY    ELMER, 


OB 


TRIALS    J^NT)    OH-A.]SraES. 


MAEY  ELMER, 


OR 


TRIALS    AND    CHAI^GES, 


CHAPTER  I. 


:vr^ 


HAT  modest-looklno^  white  house  that  stands 
somewhat  isolated,  whose  is  it?  It  seems  the 
abode  of  ease  without  pretension." 

It  belongs  to  Mrs.  Lee,  widow  of  Dr.  Lee, 
whose  sudden  death,  some  fifteen  years  ago,  cast  a  gloom 
over  the  whole  community.  He  was  in  the  prime  of  life. 
Talent  and  probity  had  raised  him  to  an  enviable  standing 
in  his  profession,  when  by  the  mysterious  ordering  of 
Divine  Providence,  he  was  cut  off  without  a  moment's 
warning.  Yet  not,  we  trust,  without  pre2:)aration,  for  one 
whose  life,  like  his,  is  a  constant  exercise  of  Christian  vir- 
tues, cannot  be  unprepared  for  death,  however  or  when- 
ever it  may  arrest  him. 

He  had  just  returned  from  visiting  some  distant  patients, 
and  was  caressing  his  only  child,  wlien  Mrs.  Lee  left  the 
room  to  make  preparations  for  tea.  A  few  moments  after, 
little  Mary  came  running  out,  crying  : 

(143) 


144  SIAR  Y  ELMER,    OR 

**  Mamma,  I  can't  wake  papa,  do  come  and  help  me 
wake  papa ! " 

Mrs.  Lee  supposed,  however,  that  he  had  fallen  asleep 
through  weariness,  and  telling  the  little  girl  *'  not  to  dis- 
turb papa,"  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  softly  back 
into  the  apartment.  But  what  a  sight  was  she  destined  to 
behold  !  Her  husband  had  sunk  back  in  his  chair —  and, 
one  glance  at  his  face  revealed  the  awful  certainty  —  he 
was  dead  !  A  piercing  shriek  rang  through  the  house, 
and  then  for  many  hours  the  wretched  woman  knew  noth- 
ing of  what  was  passing  around  her.  The  horror  and 
agony  of  the  first  hour  of  returning  consciousness,  I 
could  not,  if  I  would,  depict. 

It  was  long,  very  long,  before  she  recovered  from  the 
shock,  for  she  had  loved  her  husband  devotedly.  Yet 
after  his  death  she  felt  that  she  had  not  fully  appreciated 
his  noble  character.  She  knew  not  all  his  excellence  until 
he  was  gone.  None  but  herself  thought  that  Margaret 
Lee  had  failed  in  any  dutyiowards  the  departed.  He  had 
never  thought  so.  And  yet  before  her  mind  arose  a 
thousand  little  errors  and  delinquencies,  which  her  tender 
conscience  macrnified  into  o^reat  faults  and  failures  resultins: 
from  gross  selfishness.  She  did  not  say,  as  many  would 
in  a  like  affliction,  *<  He  was  my  idol  and  therefore  Heaven 
has  taken  hhn  from  me."  But  she  said,  in  the  bitterness  of 
her  heart,  *'  I  did  not  love  him  as  I  ought.  I  did  not  do 
half  that  I  might  have  done  to  make  him  happy,  and  thus 
am  I  punished." 

The  weight  of  such  a  sorrow  would  have  crushed  her, 
had  not  the  care  of  her  little  dayghter  contributed  to 
divert  her  thoughts  from  running  always  in  the  same  dark 
channel.     There  had  been  a  wonderful  affection  between 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  145 

this  child  and  her  fiither,  whom  she  strongly  resembled 
both  in  features  and  'disposition.  •  She  was  but  three  years 
old  when  he  died,  and  for  some  time  she  could  not  compre- 
hend that  he  was  to  return  no  more.  At  every  sound  of  a 
carriage,  or  step  in  the  hall,  she  would  run  out  to  meet 
*'papa."  When  at  length  she  was  made  to  understand 
that  he  could  not  come  back  to  her,  but  that  if  she  was  a 
good  girl  she  would  one  day  go  to  him,  she  gave  up  look- 
ing for  her  father,  and  seemed  only  desirous  to  be  very 
good,  that  she  might  go  to  him.  Many  times  in  the  day 
she  would  go  to  her  mother,  and  folding  her  arms  upon 
her  knee  would  say,  *'  Now  mamma  tell  Mary  about  papa." 
And  then  the  heart-broken  mother  told  her  of  her  father, 
and  the  blessed  place  where  he  was  waiting  for  them  both. 
As  she  looked  at  the  bright  little  being  who  stood  with  her 
dimpled  hands  resting  on  her  mother's  lap,  and  her  deep, 
thoughtful  eyes  turned  up  so  earnestly  to  her  face  ;  she 
trembled  that  one  so  pure  and  sinless  should  be  left  to  her 
weak  and  erring  guidance. 

*'  But  God  has  committed  her  to  me,"  said  she,  <*  and 
He  will  help  me."  And  earnestly  did  she  pray  for  His 
help. 

Every  evening  when  her  mother  was  undressing  her,  the 
little  one  never  failed  to  ask  the  question,  '<  Mamma,  has 
Mary  been  a  good  girl  to-day  ? "  And  on  receivino-  an 
approving  answer,  she  would  say  her  prayer  and  go  to 
sleep  very  happy. 

A  few  months  after  her  father's  death  she  was  stricken 
with    the    scarlet   fever.     For  two  days   she   suffered  in- 
tensely, and<ippeared  scarcely  conscious  of  anything  save 
her  own  pain.     On  the  third,  at  evening,  this  abated,  and 
13 


146  3IAEY  ELMER,    OR 

the  little  girl  as  she  lay  in  her  mother's  arms,  looked  up 

and  said  faintly  :  • 

"  Mamma,  has  Mary  been  a  good  girl  to-day?" 

Mrs.  Lee  pressed  the  precious  child  to  her  bosom  and 

whispered,   <*  YeS;  darling,  Mary  is  always  a  dear,  good 

little  <nvV 

o 

An  expression  of  perfect  peace  passed  over  the  cherub 
face.  She  murmured  her  childish  prayer  and  then  — fell 
asleep  —  a  long,  quiet  sleep  it  was,  from  which  she  awaked 
in  Paradise. 

Who  can  understand  the  utter  desolateness  of  the  child- 
less widow  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  solitary  dwelHng,  from 
which  she  felt  that  light  and  joy  were  forever  departed  ! 
And  yet  there  was  no  other  place  on  earth  so  dear  to  her. 
It  was  the  home  whither  she  had  come  a  bride,  but  a  few 
years  before,  and  those  few  years  had  been  by  far  the 
happiest  of  her  life.  The  happiest  —  yet  clouded  by  the 
greatest  sorrow  she  had  ever  known.  And  here  she 
resolved  to  pass  the  rest  of  her  days.  She  therefore 
rejected  all  solicitations  to  return  to  the  east,  her  former 
home,  and  where  her  only  surviving  near  relation,  a 
sister,  still  resided. 

This  sister  who  was  many  years  older  than  Mrs.  Lee, 
had  married  very  rich,  and  her  family  lived  in  a  style  and 
moved  in  a  circle  Avholly  at  variance  with  Mrs.  Lee's  taste 
and  circumstances.  An  annual  visit  of  a  few  weeks  was 
all  that  she  would  promise  them.  From  this  visit  she 
always  returned  eagerly  to  her  own  unostentatious  home, 
and  the  graves  of  her  buried  treasures. 

She  no  longer  mingled  in  general  society  ;  it  had  iost 
all  attraction  for  her.  Iler  visits  were  mostly  visits  of 
mercy.     She  was  not  rich,  but  her  income  was  much  more 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  147 

than  sufficient  for  her  own  expenditure  ;  and  the  overplus 
she  devoted  to  charity.  She  was  not  like  those  careful 
far-seeing  persons  who  are  always  laying  in  store  for  a 
*' rainy  day"  to  come,  such  days  were  constantly  falling 
in  her  pathway.  They  were  the  suffering  and  the  needy, 
and  she  thanked  Heaven  that  one  consolation  remained  to 
her  in  the  midst  of  her  afflictions  —  the  powder  sometimes 
to  alleviate  those  of  others.  She  had  few  intimate  friends, 
for  although  there  w^as  that  in  her  grief  which  invited  sym- 
pathy, the  dignity  of  her  manner  checked  all  familiarity  ; 
and  those  few  only  knew  the  real  humility  and  sweetness 
of  her  character. 

Year  after  year  passed  away,  and  Mrs.  Lee  remained 
the  same.  Unchanged  in  her  simple  habits  and  retiring 
manners.  Unchanged  in  her  quiet,  unobtrusive  way  of 
doins:  frood.  Unclians^ed  in  her  silent  sorrow.  Un- 
chanfred  in  her  mournino^  dress.  She  was  a  wonder  to 
many  w^ho  knew  that  with  her  youth,  her  appearance, 
and  her  station,  she  might,  if  she  chose,  be  the  idol  of  a 
flattering  crowd,  the  leader  of  fashionable  society.  And 
they  thought  it  "  astonishing  that  she  didn't  at  least  go 
into  second  mourning,  which  would  be  so  much  more  be- 
coming to  her  style  of  beauty." 

And  so,  with  her  loneliness  and  her  prayers,  her  com- 
munings with  the  departed  and  her  labors  of  love,  we  will 
leave  her  awhile. 

In  the  outskirts  of  the  same  town,  or  what  w^as  then 
the  outskirts,  stood  a  poor  old  house,  which  has  long  since 
been  demolished  to  make  way  for  new  ones.  Old  and 
poor  It  certainly  was,  but  still  neat  and  comfortable.  And 
in  it  dw^elt  another  widow  and  her  only  daughter.  Mrs. 
Grant  had  been  the  wife  of   an  Industrious  and    thriving 


148  MARY  EL3IER,    OR 

mechanic,  who  left  a  prosperous  business  in  a  small  village 
not  far  distant,  and  came  hither  in  the  hope  of  doing 
better.  But  unfortunately  he  soon  fell  into  intemperate 
habits  —  wasted  his  little  property  —  died  miserably  and 
left  his  wife  and  child  to  struggle  with  poverty  as  best 
they  might. 

Susan,  the  girl,  was  too  young  then  to  do  much,  and 
Mrs.  Grant  was  obliged  to  work  very  hard  to  maintain 
them  both,  and  pay  the  rent  of  her  small  tenement.  But 
as  Susan  grew  older  she  became  very  useful.  When  she 
was  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  age,  she  learned  the 
bus^iness  of  dress-making ;  and  in  a  few  years  was  able  to 
earn  a  comfortable  subsistence  for  herself  and  her  mother. 
The  latter  through  anxiety  and  over-exertion,  had  become 
prematurely  infirm,  and  was  only  equal  to  the  discharge 
of  her  own  household  duties.  These  she  performed  while 
Susan  went  her  daily  rounds  amongst  her  employers.  The 
evenings  they  passed  happily  together. 

Mrs.  Grant  was  a  truly  religious  woman,  and  she  had 
trained  her  daughter  to  piety  and  an  abhorrence  of  every- 
thing that  is  evil.  The  young  girl  was  often  thrown  in 
the  way  of  temptation  as  she  pursued  her  calling,  but  she 
overcame  it,  and  grew  up  good  and  virtuous,  a  pattern 
of  neatness  and  quiet  industry.  Everybody  liked  Susan 
Grant.  And  when  at  length  she  married,  almost  every- 
body thought  she  had  done  remarkably  well  to  get  George 
Elmer,  a  young  man  of  excellent  principles  and  great 
activity.  In  fact  one  who  was  called  a  very  '*  enterprising 
young  man." 

There  were  some,  however,  who  pronounced  him  *'  vis- 
ionary." That  is,  wanting  in  stability  and  perseverance. 
For   although   he  was    both    active   and   intelligent,   and 


TRIALS  AXD    CUAXGES.  140 

always  engaged  in  some  sort  of  business,  he  never  fol- 
lowed any  one  occupation  long  enough  to  acquire  much 
proficiency,  or  realize  much  profit  in  it. 

He  had  been  a  carpenter,  a  printer,  a  merchant's  clerk, 
had  studied  medicine  a  short  time,  law  a  still  shorter  time, 
and  had  abandoned  the  last  for  dentistry,  in  which  he  was 
engap:ed  at  the  time  of  his  marriage.  Thus  he  went  from 
one  thing  to  another,  never  exactly  failing  in  any,  but 
always  relinquishing  each  for  something  else  which  his 
sanguine  nature  imagined  would  prove  much  more  lucra- 
tive. 

With  this  propensity  to  change,  it  is  not  surprising  that 
George  Elmer  laid  up  little  or  nothing.  His  family  was 
always  comfortable  it  is  true.  But  that  was  the  result  of 
Susan's  good  management  more  than  of  his.  Still  he  was 
a  very  kind  husband  and  father,  and  there  was  nowhere  a 
happier  family  to  be  found  than  theirs. 

Susan's  mother  lived  with  them,  and  was  regarded  by 
the  afiPectionate  young  couple  as  a  great  blessing  and  com- 
fort. She  did  indeed  make  herself  useful  in  many  ways, 
particularly  In  sharing  with  Susan  the  care  of  the  children, 
—  of  whom  there  were  two,  —  bright  pretty  little  creatures 
as  ever  blessed  a  fireside. 

When  these  were  about  six  and  four  years  old,  George, 
who  had  long  since  given  up  dentistry  for  something  else, 
and  that  again  for  something  else,  bought  out  a  daguer- 
rian  who  was  going  to  California,  and  began  the  business 
on  his  own  account. 

For  several  months  he  worked  vigorously  at  it,  making 
WTetched    likenesses,  having  a  world  of  trouble   with  his 
**  chemicals,"  and  consequently  very  little  patronage,  as 
13* 


150  MART  ELMER,    OR 

there  was  a  rival  professor  in  the  place,  whose  skill  was 
unquestioned. 

But  at  length  his  efforts  were  crowned  with  success.  He 
fairly  mastered  the  art.  His  "  chemicals  "  worked  admir- 
ably, and  he  turned  out  pictures  that  were  more  life-like 
than  the  originals  themselves.  His  "  Daguerrlan  Gallery" 
became  famous,  and  that  of  his  rival  dwindled  into  insigni- 
ficance. He  had  plenty  to  do.  His  pictures  commanded 
a  good  price.  His  circumstances  began  visibly  to  im- 
prove, and  he  felt  warranted  In  taking  a  larger  and  more 
commodious  house  for  his  family. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things,  when  George  Elmer  sud- 
denly resolved  to  follow  the  example  of  his  illustrious  pre- 
decessor, and  go  to  seek  his  fortune  in  California.  This 
was  In  the  early  stage  of  the  "  gold  excitement."  The 
diiguerrian  had  not  been  heard  from.  But' one  other  Indi- 
vidual had  gone  from  the  same  place,  —  a  shoemaker,  the 
first  who  had  ventured,  —  and  wonderful  accounts  of  his 
success  had  travelled  back. 

Susan  Elmer  heard  the  announcement  of  her  husband's 
intention  with  a  heavy  heart.  She  tried  to  dissuade  him 
from  the  undertaking.  The  perils  of  the  journey,  the 
dangers  of  the  climate,  the  uncertainty  of  success,  and 
the  unavoidably  long  separation  from  his  family  in  any 
case,  all  these  she  represented  to  him,  but  In  vain.  He 
saw  no  possibility  of  failure.     His  mind  was  made  up. 

"O  George,"  said  she,  *' we  are  doing  well  enough. 
You  are  just  beginning  to  realize  something  from  your 
present  business,  with  a-  prospect  of  making  a  handsome 
support  In  time." 

"  O  but  It  takes  such  an  everlastlnof  while  to  o^et  ricli 
here.     I  can  make  more  in  California  in  one  year  than  I 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.     •  151 

could  here  in  my  whole  life-time.  Just  think  of  Smith, 
the  shoemaker !  he's  making  money  like  dirt.  I  don't 
mean  to  .be  away  over  a  year,  and  a  year's  soon  gone  you 
know.  And  then  —  hurrah;  Susy!  we'll  roll  in  gold 
dust !  '^ 

Little  Johnny  who  stood  beside  his  mother,  sobbing  out 
of  sympathy  with  her,  thought  "  that  wouldn't  be  nice  at 
all,  it  wasn't  pretty  to  roll  in  dust." 

**  We  shall  see,  my  son,"  said  his  father  patting  his 
head,   '<  we  shall  see." 

Susan  was  silenced  but  not  convinced.  She  saw  that 
her  husband  was  fully  resolved  upon  going.  She  there- 
fore ceased  her  opposition  and  went  to  work  diligently  to 
prepare  his  wardrobe.  But  despite  her  efforts  to  look  on 
the  bright  side  of  things,  she  had  many  sad  forebodings. 
And  so  had  Mrs.  Grant.  She  thought  it  a  great  risk  to 
run  for  a  very  small  gain. 

Elmer  sold  out  his  daguerrian  apparatus  for  much  less 
than  It  cost  him,  settled  up  his  business,  and  prepared  to 
take  his  departure.  Susan  proposed  that  he  should  carry 
with  him  his  case  of  dentist's  instruments.  "It  won't 
take  a  great  deal  of  room,"  she  said,  "  and  you  may  find 
It  necessary  to  do  something  besides  dig  for  gold,  before 
you  come  back." 

George  laughed  and  said,  "  So  I  suppose  you  think 
that  the  little  I  do  succeed  in  turning  up  would  be  profit- 
ably left  behind  in  people's  teeth." 

But  Susan,  when  she  packed  his  trunk,  put  the  case  of 
instruments  in  the  bottom,  thinking  that  at  least  they 
would  do  no  harm. 

A  sum  of  money  that  would  have  sufficed  to  support 
them  all  in  comfort  for  a  year  or  more  under  Susan's  care- 


152  iMARY  ELMER,    OR 

fill  management,  was  requisite  for  George  Elmer's  outfit 
and  travelling  expenses,  consequently  he  was  unable  to 
leave  them  much.  The  man  who  had  taken  his  da7 
gucrrian  apparatus,  a  Mr.  Green,  —  not  long  resident  in 
the  village  —  had  not  yet  paid,  but  was  to  hand  the  money 
to  Mrs.  Elmer  in  the  course  of  a  week  or- two.  This, 
George  said,  would  be  ample  for  all  their  expenses,  until 
he  should  send  them  a  supply,  which  he  hoped  to  do  before 
many  months.  And  in  a  year  or  a  year  and  a  half  at 
the  farthest,  "  he  would  be  with  them  again.  And  then 
they  would  have  a  house  of  their  own  —  such  a  house  too  !  " 

And  so  George  Elmer  bade  his  wife  and  children  fare- 
well. With  some  tears  it  is  true,  for  he  loved  them  dearly, 
and  It  was  for  their  sakes  that  he  left  them  ;  yet  with  high 
hopes  and  brilliant  anticipations  of  a  golden  future.  Poor 
Susan  could  not  speak  at  all.  The  little  ones  cried  aloud, 
and  old  Mrs.  Grant  as  she  pressed  his  hand  in  both  her 
own,  said  with  a  trembling  voice:  "  God  bless  you,  my 
son,  and  bring  you  safely  back  again." 

'*  Ask  it  of  Him  every  day,  mother,"  responded  the 
young  man,  "  and  all  of  you  pray  for  me  daily  till  we 
meet  again,  as  I  surely  shall  for  you.  Keep  up  good 
courage  'twill  not  be  long  after  all  —  a  year  is  soon  gone." 

For  some  little  time  after  George's  departure,  his  fiimily 
contrived  to  get  along  without  incurring  debts.  But 
Susan's  small  stock  rapidly  decreased.  The  winter  was  at 
hand.  Wood  and  many  other  necessaries  ought  to  be  pur- 
cluised.  But  so  far  from  being  able  to  procure  these,  she 
had  scarcely  enough  to  supply  their  immediate  wants.  The 
man  Green,  to  her  great  disappointment,  had  left  the  place 
without  paying  what  he  owed,  and  gone  no  one  knew 
whither.     Very  soon  after  her  husband    went  away,  she 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  153 

resumed  her  old  occupation  of  dress-making,  took  the 
work  in,  and  devoted  to  it  every  moment  of  time  that  she 
could  spare  from  her  other  duties,  which  were  rendered 
heavier  by  the  increasing  feebleness  of  her  mother.  The 
winter  came.  Another  child  was  added  to  the  little  flock, 
—  a  nice  boy.  His  mother  looked  sadly  in  his  unconscious 
face  and  wondered  "  what  would  become  of  him." 

"  Trust  in  the  Lord,"  said  the  grandmother. 

"  It  is  all  I  can  do  just  now,"  Susan  replied  with  a  deep 
sigh.  About  this  time  the  rent  fell  due.  Mrs.  Elmer  had 
not  the  means  to  pay  it.  She  therefore  sold  some  of  her 
furniture  to  meet  this  and  other  expenses,  for  she  was  re- 
solved not  to  "go  into  debt  as  long  as  it  could  possibly  be 
avoided. 

Soon  after  this  her  heart  was  gladdened  by  intelligence 
from  George.  He  had  reached  San  Francisco  in  safety, 
and  was  about  to  start  for  the  "  diggins,"  and  trusted  soon 
to  send  her  some  of  the  results  of  his  labors.  It  was 
cheering  to  know  that  he  was  alive  and  well,  and  Susan 
plied  her  needle  with  renewed  energy  every  moment  that 
her  baby  did  not  require  her  attention.  Mrs.  Grant, 
though  suffering  under  a  slight  paralysis,  could  still  get 
about  Vsith  a  cane,  and  assist  somewhat  in  the  household 
labors.  And  Mary,  the  eldest  child,  was  very  good  about 
amusing  the  little  one,  who  fortunately  was  not  at  all 
fretful. 

Still  with  all  her  exertions,  it  was  very  little  that  Susan 
could  earn  by  sewing.  She  had  not  regained  her  former 
strength  since  the  birth  of  her  child.  Never  before  hud 
she  sewed  so  steadily.  She  felt  that  it  was  undermining 
her  health,  but  she  v/as  determined  to  straggle  on  and  keep 
out  of  debt  until  the  promised  aid  should  come  fioui  her 


154  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

husband.-  And  what  if  she  should  receive  no  such  aid? 
What  if  Georsfe  after  all  should  be  unsucccisful  and  finally 
return  as  poor  as  he  went  away?  At  any  rate,  he  should 
have  no  debts  of  hers  to  discharo-e,  even  thouG^h  she  should 
be  obliged  to  part  with  every  superfluity  to  avoid  them. 

As  the  winter  wore  on,  expenses  increased.  The  avails 
of  Susan's  labor  were  quite  inadequate  to  meet  them,  and 
she  accordingly  sold  several  more  articles  of  her  furniture, 
thinking  that  if  all  should  end  well,  their  loss  could  be 
easily  supplied. 

The  spring  was  somewhat  advanced,  when  Smith,  the 
shoemaker,  returned  from  California,  and  brought  news  of 
George  Elmer.  But  O,  what  news  !  He  called  to  see 
Susan,  and  thus  his  story  ran.  Poor  Elmer  had  died 
of  the  prevailing  fever  on  the  very  day  that  Smith  left  San 
Francisco.  He  had  become  discoura^^fed  with  difrsinof  for 
gold,  gone  to  San  Francisco,  and  returned  to  his  former 
occupation  of  house  building,  which  was  very  profitable 
there,  and  in  which  he  would  undoubtedly  have  done  well, 
had  he  not  been  taken  down  with  the  fever  which  carried 
him  off  in  a  few  days.  Smith  saw  him  the  day  before  he 
came  away.  George  then  did  not  believe  that  his  illness 
would  terminate  fatalty,  and  hoped  soon  to  resume  his 
work.  He  sent  many  affectionate  messages  to  his  family, 
with  a  handsome  gold  brooch  for  Susan  containing  a  lock 
of  his  hair  and  a  daguerrotype  likeness,  and  requested 
Smith  to  say  to  them  that  he  should  come  home  in  six 
months  or  thereabouts. 

**  But  we  all  knew,"  continued  the  narrator,  '*  that  he 
couldn't  get  well,  he  himself  was  the  only  one  who  had 
any  hope.  The  doctor  told  me  then  that  he  couldn't  live 
through  the  night.  And  so  it  proved.  The  next  morn- 
ing I  heard  he  was  dead." 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  155 

During  this  recital  Susan  Elmer  sat  like  one  turned  to 
stone.  She  uttered  no  cry.  She  spoke  not  a  word.  Nor 
did  she  look  towards  Mr.  Smith,  when  he  took  his  de- 
parture. The  grandmother  cried  violently,  and  so  did 
little  Mary  who  was  old  enough  to  understand  something 
of  their  loss.  Johnny  cried  too.  But  for  a  long  time 
Susan  remained  in  that  same  immovable  state,  grasping 
the  brooch  as  though  It  was  all  the  world  to  her  now. 

I  know  not  how  long  she  would  have  sat  thus,  had  not 
the  baby  awaked  from  a  long  sleep  In  its  cradle  and  begun 
to  cry.  No  mother's  ear  was  ever  deaf  to  such  a  sound. 
Susan  took  up  her  little  one  and  attended  to  its  wants,  and 
then  she  wept.      She  remembered  that  It  was  fatherless. 

*' I'm  glad  to  see  you  cry,  my  child,"  said  her  mother, 
"  I  feared  you  never  would." 

''  I  feared  so  too,  mother,"  said  Susan,  '*  and  I  thank 
God  that  I  can." 

''  Trust  in  the  Lord,"  pursued  the  old  woman.  '<  He 
will  not  forsake  us."     Susan  did  not  reply. 

As  soon  after  this  sudden  and  great  affliction  as  Susan 
could  command  her  thoughts  sufficiently  for  the  task,  she 
tried  to  fix  upon  some  plan  by  which  her  expenses  might 
be  lessened,  and  her  Income  Increased.  As  a  first  step, 
she  disposed  of  all  of  her  remaining  furniture  excepting 
only  the  bare  necessaries,  and  a  small  mantel  clock,  which 
had  been  George's  gift  to  her  on  the  last  anniversary  of 
their  marriage.  She  then  removed  to  a  small  house,  or 
rather  two  rooms  of  a  house  not  far  distant,  at  a  much 
lower  rent,  and  though  almost  broken  down  with  fatigue 
and  sorrow,  applied  herself  more  constantly  than  ever  to 
her  needle.     The  poor  have  no  time  for  idle  grief. 


156  MARY  ELMER,    OR 


CHAPTER  II. 


jHE  report  of  George  Elmer's  death  soon  reached 

^  ^m  ^^^^'    Lee.       This    lady,    of    whom    the    reader 

already   knows  something,    had  not  heard  of  the 

family  before.      At  least  not  particularly,   for  *she 

resided  at  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  place.      She  had 

visited    Elmer's     daguerrian   rooms,  and  remembered  the 

proprietor  as  an  intelligent,  well-mannered  young  man. 

Had  the  poverty  of  the  Elmers  been  generally  known, 
she  would  long  since  have  made  acquaintance  with  them. 
But  Susan  was  no  complainer,  and  very  few  persons  had 
any  idea  of  their  destitution.  In  fact  none  save  those  who 
had  bought  their  furniture  for  less  than  half  its  real  value. 
And  they  were  not  the  ones  likely  to  interest  themselves  in 
behalf  of  the  poor. 

But  Mrs.  Lee  heard  of  George  Elmer's  death,  heard 
how  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  the  blow  had  fallen  upon 
his  poor  wife.  The  name  '*  widow"  had  always  the 
1^0 wer  to  elicit  her  deepest  sympathy,  and  Mrs.  Elmer's 
affliction  affected  her  unusually.  It  was  like  the  one  great 
sorrow  of  her  own  life.  So  unlooked-for  and  overwhelm- 
ing. Her  heart  went  out  towards  the  bereaved  woman, 
and  she  resolved  to  go  and  see  her. 

Accordingly,  after  a  few  days,  she  inquired  tlie  way  and 
went.  It  was  after  the  family  had  removed.  She  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  humble  dwelling,  and  was  admitted  by 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  157 

Johnny,  who  showed  her  into  the  room  where  his  mother 
and  the  rest  were  collected.  Susan's  sad,  worn  face  was 
bent  low  over  her  sewino^.  The  old  mother  was  knittinof 
socks  at  sixpence  per  pair  for  a  neighboring  variety  store, 
and  little  Mary  was  holding  the  baby  on  her  lap.  When 
Mrs.  Lee  announced  her  name,  Susan  and  her  mother  rose 
and  welcomed  her.      They  knew  her  by  reputation. 

*^  Mrs.  Elmer,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  "  I  have  heard  of  your 
affliction,  and  am  come,  not  to  intrude  upon  your  grief, 
but  to  offer  you  the  sympathy  which  none  can  so  truly  feel 
as  those  who  have  experienced  a  like  sorrow." 

Susan  thanked  her  kind  visitor,  while  tears  flowed  freely 
down  her  pale  face.  I  need  not  repeat  all  the  conversation 
which  ensued.  Susan  was  not  a  great  talker,  but  the  little 
she  said  impressed  Mrs.  Lee  very  favorably.  As  to  the 
latter,  she  possessed  the  happy  faculty  of  saying  just 
enough,  and  just  the  right  things.  On  this  occasion  she 
completely  won  Susan's  heart ;  for  she  was  free  alike 
from  that  patronizing  manner  which  offends  the  sensitive, 
and  that  haughtiness  whicli  repels  them.  After  conversing 
some  time  with  Mrs.  Ehiier  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Lee 
turned  to  the  children,  and  taking  from  her  pocket  some 
sugar-plums,  gave  them  to  Johnny,  telling  him  to  divide 
them  with  his  sister. 

*'  But  you  see,"  said  Johnny,  who  was  a  very  loquacious 
little  fellow,  "  she  can't  hold  the  sugar-plums  and  the  baby 
too,  so  if  you'll  please  to  take  Georgey,  then  I'll  give  her 
some." 

Susan  was  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  boy's  boldness,  and 
was  beginning  to  check  him,  wlien  Mrs.  Lee  reassured  her 
by  saying,  with  a  smile,  to  Johnny,  — 
14 


158  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

*'  That's  just  what  I  want  to  do,  if  the  baby  will  let  me ; 
I  don't  like  to  frighten  babies  and  make  them  cry." 

"  O,  but  our  baby  don't  cry  at  strangers,"  said  the 
little  boy  eagerly,  "  he  isn't  afraid  of  anybody,  he'll  go  to 
you  and  stay  as  long  as  you  want  him  to." 

**  He  looks  like  a  good  baby,"  Mrs.  Lee  replied  ;  "bring 
him  here,  my  dear,  I'm  a  great  friend  to  babies." 

As  the  little  girl  advanced  with  the  *'  infant  prodigy," 
(as  slie  and  Johnny  considered  him,)  Mrs.  Lee  observed 
lier  more  particularly  than  she  had  done  before.  She  was 
a  very  pretty  cliild,  and  her  deep  blue  eyes  and  light  curl- 
ing hair  brought  to  tlie  mind  of  the  lonely  lady  the 
image  of  her  own  lost  darling.  She  took  the  baby  on  her 
la]),  and  putting  her  arm  round  his  sister,  asked  what  was 
her  name. 

"'  Mary,"  the  little  girl  answered. 

Mrs.  Lee's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  looked  earnestly 
in  the  child's  face  for  a  moment,  kissed  her  cheek,  and  then 
told  her  to  go  and  get  her  share  of  the  sugar-plums. 

The  baby  fully  sustained  the  reputation  which  Johnny 
had  given  him,  by  laughing  and  crowing  at  Mrs.  Lee,  and 
taking  great  liberties  with  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  to  her  ev- 
ident satisfaction.  She  had  a  great  fondness  for  children, 
although  she  was  not  wont  to  manifest  it  in  the  boisterous 
manner  of  some.  But  while  apparently  wholly  occupied 
with  the  baby,  she  was  not  unobservant  of  the  two  older 
children  who  retired  to  a  corner  for  the  purpose  of  dividing 
her  trifling  gift.  She  was  much  pleased  at  the  manner  in 
which  this  was  done. 

Mary  counted  them  (Johnny  could  not  count  so  many) 
and  divided  them  into  two  equal  portions,  one  of  which 
Johnny  poured  into  her  apron. 


.     TRIALS  AND   CB ANGUS.  159 

**  And  here's  two  more  because  you're  the  biggest," 
said  he,  taking  a  couple  from  his  own  share  and  adding 
them  to  hers. 

But  Mary  objected  to  this  arrangement.  *'  No,  Johnny, 
you  must  keep  a  whole  half  and  two  more  because  you're 
the  littlest,  you  know ;  "  and  she  put  four  of  them  back  in 
her  brother's  apron. 

*'No;  Mary^  that  isn't  the  way,"  Johnny  began,  and  I 
know  not  how  much  longer  they  would  have  argued  the 
point,  had  not  a  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  them. 

The  new  arrival  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Mrs. 
Smith,  wife  of  the  returned  shoemaker  of  that  name.  She 
lived  not  far  from  the  Elmers'  present  abode,  and  having 
seen  Mrs.  Lee  go  there,  thought  she  would  take  that  occa- 
sion to  make  a  friendly  call,  and  find  out  the  object  of 
that  lady's  visit.  It  was  reported  that  Smith  had  come 
back  rich.  He  had  indeed  a  good  deal  of  money  and  was 
making  quite  a  noise  about  it.  He  had  followed  his  busi- 
ness while  absent,  and  found  it  much  more  profitable  than 
digging  In  the  mines.  But  of  this  he  said  nothing.  He 
merely  said,  "  he'd  been  to  California,  and  there  was  no 
farther  necessity  for  his  making  shoes  ;  he  meant  to  drive 
a  bigger  business."  His  help-meet,  who  had  long  pined 
for  "  a  large  house  and  a  hired  girl,"  was  now  about  to 
have  these  wishes  realized.  She  therefore  felt  ' '  as  good 
as  anybody  !  " 

But  we  sliall  have  more  to  do  with  her  hereafter,  there- 
fore we  will  dismiss  her  for  the  present.  Soon  after  her 
entrance  Mrs.  Lee  took  leave. 

As  she  walked  homewards  she  reflected  upon  the  little 
incident  connected  with  the  sugar-plums,  the  entire  absence 
of  selfishness  shown  by  both  the  children  in  the  division  of 


IGO  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

what  was  to  them  quite  a  treasure.  She  conjectured,  and 
with  reason  too,  that  sucli  a  disposition  had  not  been 
formed  or  cultivated  by  any  particuLar  course  of  training 
pursued  by  their  parents,  but  must  be  the  natural  result  of 
perfect  unanimity  between  those  parents.  This  was  the  se- 
cret. George  and  Susan  Elmer  were  not  wise  or  learned 
persons.  They  had  no  theory  of  family  government  —  no 
system  of  *' suasion  "  upon  which  they  acted.  But  they 
had  no  differences.  They  agreed  in  every  tiling.  With 
this  example  of  mutual  confidence  and  respect  before  them, 
how  could  the  children  be  other  than  they  were,  loving  and 
obedient  ? 

That  evening,  wdien  these  little  ones  knelt  by  their 
mother's  knee  to  say  their  prayers,  Mary,  who  repeated 
hers  first,  voluntarily  added  the  name  of  Mrs.  Lee  to  those 
for  whom  she  daily  prayed  ;  and  her  brother  followed  her 
example.     Thus  ran  the  simple  petition.    • 

"  O  God  !  forgive  all  my  sins,  and  make  me  a  good 
child,  and  bless  my  dear  father,  and  mother,  and  grand- 
mother, and  brotliers,  and  Mrs.  Lee,  and  everybody,  for 
Jesus  Christ's  sake.      Amen  ! " 

After  the  children  had  gone  to  bed,  Mrs.  Grant  said  to 
her  daughter, 

'*  Susan,  is  it  right  to  let  the  children  pray  for  their 
father  now  ?  " 

''  I  don't  know,  mother,"  replied  the  sorrowful  woman. 
"  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  it  myself,  but  some- 
how I  cannot  bear  to  tell  them  they  must  no  longer  ask 
God  to  bless  their  father.  It  seems  like  breaking  the  last 
Ihik  between  him  and  us,  and  something  tells  me  it  is  bet- 
ter to  let  them  do  it.  It  cannot  do  them  any  harm,  and 
surely  it  cannot  hurt  poor  George,  can  it,  mother  ?  " 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  IGl 

*'  Just  so,  it  cannot,  my  child,  and  I  don't  believe  it  will 
be  laid  to  your  charge  as  a  sin." 

Thus  answering,  the  old  mother  took  off  her  spectacles 
and  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  the  two  worked  on 
for  some  time  in  silence.     At  length  Mrs.  Grant  said, 

*'  Susan,  what  a  difference  there  is  between  folks  !  " 

"•  A  very  great  difference,  mother.  Were  you  thinking 
of  Mrs.  Lee  and  Mrs.  Smith?  I  was  at  that  moment." 

"  Yes,  they  were  the  persons  I  had  in  my  mind  when  I 
spoke.  I  noticed  the  contrast  more,  I  suppose,  because 
they  happened  to  be  here  at  the  same  time.  What  a  per- 
fect lady  Mrs.  Lee  is !  how  kind  and  pleasing  in  her 
manners  !  ". 

"  She  is  indeed.  It  seems  to  me  I  never  before  realized 
how  much  there  is  in  kind  words.  I  have  felt  better  ever 
since." 

**Yes,  they  were  what  the  Bible  calls  'words  fitly 
spoken.'  But  that  Mrs.  Smith  !  Somehow  I  can't  help 
thinking  she  only  came  to  spy  out  the  nakedness  of  the 
land  !  can  you  ?  "  • 

"  It  did  appear  so  certainly,  but  you  know  it  isn't  right 
to  judge  from  appearances.  She  may  mean  very  well, 
though  she  isn't  at  all  like  Mrs.  Lee." 

"  Yery  true ;  she  may  mean  well,  and  have  an  odd  way 
with  her." 

It  was  evident  to  Mrs.  Lee  that  the  Elmers  were  very 
poor.  The  apartment  in  which  she  had  found  them, 
although  it  had  an  air  of  comfort  which  cleanliness  and  or- 
der always  give  to  even  the  meanest  abode,  yet  betokened 
extreme  indigence,  and  she  thought  it  strange  that  Geoige 
Elmer  should  have  left  his  family  so  destitute.  She  in- 
14* 


162  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

quired  farther  concerning  them,  of  Harriet,  her  maid,  who 
was  one  of  the  knowing  kind. 

Harriet  was  able  to  give  her  the  required  information, 
for  she  had  found  out  a  good  deal  about  them  from  the 
Ludlows,  who  had  bought  no  small  part  of  Mrs.  Elmer's 
furniture. 

*'  O  yes,  I  meant  to  tell  you  about  'em,"  said  she,  "  for 
I  thought  likely  you'd  do  something  to  help  'em.  They're 
dreadful  poor  I  guess,  though  he  left  'em  quite  comforta- 
ble when  he  w^ent  away.  But  she's  been  sick  a  good  deal 
since,  and  they  seem  to  have  run  out  pretty  much.  She 
takes  in  sewing,  and  the  old  woman  knitting ;  but  I  guess 
it's  precious  little  they  earn,  for  since  she  heard  of  his 
death,  she's  left  the  good  house  they  lived  in,  and  sold  olF 
the  chief  of  her  furniture  very  low  indeed.  Mrs.  Ludlow 
bought  a  nice  set  of  chairs,  and  a  handsome  bureau,  be- 
sides several  other  things  of  her.  She  said  she  thought  it 
was  a  deed  of  charity  to  take  'em ;  but  for  my  part,  I 
thouo'ht  Mrs.  Ludlow  "ot  a  barojain." 

•Mrs.  Lee  no  longer  hesitated.  She  procured  a  cjuantity 
of  knitting  yarn,  and  the  next  morning  set  out  with  it  for 
the  house  of  Mrs.  Elmer.  After  some  little  conversation 
with  the  women,  she  said,  laying  the  package  on  the  table, 

*'  I  have  brought  yarn  for  Mrs.  Grant  to  knit  into 
stockings  for  me.  She  can  do  them  at  her  leisure,  as  I 
shall  not  need  them  until  next  fall." 

Mrs.  Grant  thanked  her,  and  Mrs.  Lee  turned  the  con- 
versation to  other  subjects.  She  talked  with  Susan  about 
the  children,  especially  Mary,  in  whom  she  already  felt  an 
unusual  interest. 

*' Your  little  girl  is  like  my  own,  and  you  must  spare 
her  to  me  for  a  day  now  and  then." 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  1G3 

Susan  acquiesced  cheerfully  in  this  proposal,  and  It  was 
settled  that  Mary  should  go  to  Mrs.  Lee's  one  day  during 
tlie  following  week.      Harriet  was  to  come  after  her. 

**  O  I  shall  be  so  glad!"  exclaimed  the  light-hearted 
child;  **  but  then  who'll  help  mother  take  care  of  the 
baby?" 

*'  I  can  do  that,"  said  Johnny,  straightening  up  with  an 
air  of  importance.  This  difficulty  disposed  of,  another 
suggested  itself  to  Mary's  mind. 

"  Mother,"  she  whispered,  looking  down  at  her  patched, 
and  ftided  clothes,  "  What  shall   I  do?  my  frock  is  real 
rusty." 

**  You  have  another,  my  dear;"  and  Susan  colored 
slightly. 

*'  I  know  it,  but  that's  just  as  rusty  as  this  you  know." 

**  Never  mind  the  frock,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  smiling.  *«  It 
is  Mary  and  not  the  frock  that  I  care  about." 

Then  calling  Johnny  to  her,  she  gave  him  a  gay  wooden 
soldier,  and  rose  to  go.  At  the  same  time  she  drew  from 
her  pocket  a  'five  dollar  bank  note,  and  proffering  it  to 
Mrs.  Grant,  said, 

"  I  will  pay  you  now  for  the  knitting." 

'*  I  thank  you,  but  I  can't  change  that,"  said  the  old 
woman  ;  ' '  and  besides  I  don't  know  how  much  to  charge 
until  I  see  how  many  stockings  the  yarn  will  knit." 

"  Keep  it  all  if  you  please,"  returned  Mrs.  Lee  ;  ''  there 
is  none  too  much ;  the  yarn  will  knit  several  pairs,  and 
knitting  is  slow  work ;  we  should  always  consider  the 
time." 

Mrs.  Grant  saw  at  once,  and  appreciated  with  heart- 
felt gratitude  the  good  lady's  delicate  manner  of  bestowing 
a  charity.      She  thanked  her  again,  and  not  without  tears 


164  ,  MARY  EL3IER,    OR 

in  her  eyes.  Mrs.  Elmer  joined  her  motlier  In  expressions 
of  gratitude,  and  Mrs.  Lee,  after  a  few  more  words  with 
the  cliUdren,  and  a  kiss  to  the  baby,  took  her  departure. 

*' What  a  woman!"  exchiimed  Mrs.  Grant;  *' she 
didn't  even  ask  me  what  I  charged.  There's  not  many 
who  do  so,  Susan." 

**  Not  many  Indeed.      Slie  is  one  of  a  thousand." 

'*  I  feel  as  If  the  Lord  had  raised  us  up  a  friend  who 
knows  how  to  pity  us,  for  she  Is  a  widow  herself." 

*''Yes,  she  is  a  widow,  and  that's  enough  to  bear  with- 
out being  poor  like  us,  mother." 

The  old  woman  thought  there  was  something  like  a 
murmur  in  these  words,  and  it  grieved  her. 

'*  Look  there,  Sudani"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  chil- 
dren, "  the  Lord  leaves  you  all  those ;  yet  he  saw  fit  to 
take  from  Mrs.  Lee  the  only  one  she  had." 

Susan  turned  her  tearful  eyes  towards  the  little  ones, 
then  clasping  her  hands,  said  in  a  low  voice,  '*  Thy  will  be 
done." 

It  was  indeed  a  pleasant  sight.  The  baby  was  in  the 
cradle,  crowing  over  the  soldier  which  Johnny  had  put 
into  his  hands,  while  the  other  children  sat,  one  on  each 
side,  watching  his  performances  with  great  satisfaction. 

'  *  You  like  my  trainer  don't  you,  baby  ! "  said  the  little 
boy.  "  Mrs.  Lee's  a  nice  lady,  isn't  she, baby?  I  mean 
to  keep  my  trainer  always,  wouldn't  you,  Mary  ?  " 

'*  Yes,I  would,"  answered  his  sister,  "  but  then  you'll 
have  to  take  it  away  from  baby,  for  he'll  soon  have  the 
paint  all  off." 

*'  Sure  enough,  I  never  tliought  of  that.  I'll  get  him 
somethinoj  else."  So  he  ran  and  brouo-ht  a  cord  with  sev- 
eral   empty   spools  strung  upon  it,  a  plaything  which  be- 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  165 

came  a  novelty  by  the  occasional  addition  of  another  spool, 
and  aided  by  Mary  succeeded  in  extricating  the  trainer  from 
his  perilous  situation,  and  in  pacifying  the  baby,  who  was 
at  first  disposed  to  grumble  at  the  exchange. 

Notwithstanding  Mrs.  Lee  had  said  that  she  should  not 
need  the  stockings  for  some  months  to  come,  Mrs.  Grant 
determined  to  go  to  work  upon  them  immediately,  as 
"  there  was  no  knowing  what  might  happen."  On  open- 
ing the  package  of  yarn,  she  found  in  it  a  note  directed 
to  Mrs.  Elmer-  It  contained  a  few  kind  words  and  the 
sum  of  twenty  dollars.  At  this  additional  proof  of  Mrs. 
Lee's  goodness,  Susan's  tears  flowed  afresh,  and  her 
mother  said, 

''  '  He  that  hath  pity  on  the  poor,lendeth  unto  the  Lord  ;' 
that  woman  is  surely  laying  up  treasures  in  heaven." 

When  little  Mary  went  to  pay  the'  promised  visit  to 
Mrs.  Lee,  she  wore  a  neat  new  calico  frock,  and  she  said  to 
the  lad}^,  "  My  mother  told  me  I  must  thank  you  for  m.y 
new  frock." 

The  child  was  very  happy  that  day,  looking  at  books 
and  pictures,  and  talking  with  Mrs.  Lee  about  them. 
Then  running  out  into  the  pleasant  garden  among  the 
many  beautiful  spring  flowers,  and  expressing  her  childish 
wonder  and  delight  to  Peter  Jackson,  the  colored  man  w^ho 
was  working  there,  asking  him  a  hundred  questions  which 
Peter  good-naturedly  answered.  Then  back  again  into 
the  house,  to  wonder  and  exclaim  at  the  variety  of  interest- 
ing objects  there.  In  Mrs.  Lee's  own  room  she  saw  a 
child's  chair,  which  delighted  her  greatly. 

**  O  what  a  pretty  chair  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  ''  I  had  just 
such  a  one  when  we  were  in  the  other  house,  but  I  think 
mother  has  given  it  away  ;  the  house  where  we  live  now  is 


1G6  MAEY  EL  BIER,    OR 

too  little  to  hold  many  chairs.     May  I  sit  down  in  it;  Mrs. 
Lee?" 

This  had  been  little  Mary  Lee's  chair ;  no  child  had 
ever  sat  in  it  since  her  death.  It  was  guarded  as  a  sacred 
relic,  and  more  closely  associated  with  its  owner  than  any 
other  of  her  little  possessions  so  carefully  preserved  by  the 
bereaved  mother. 

**  Yes,  you  may  sit  in  it,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lee. 

*'It  seems  exactly  like  my  own  chair,"  pursued  the 
cliild  as  she  rocked  backwards  and  forwards  in  it.  "I 
always  used  to  sit  in  mine  when  mother  and  father  were 
reading.  And  too,  I  used  to  sit  in  it  when  I  was  learning 
my  hymns  after  mother." 

"  Say  me  some  of  your  hymnS;  darling." 

Mary  repeated  the  simple  verses  that  her  mother  had 
taught  her,  and  wondered  why  Mrs.  Lee  cried  so  all  the 
'while. 

''It  must  be"  thought  she,  "  because  she  feels  so  sorry 
that  my  father  is  dead."  So  she  thought  she  would  say 
something,  to  comfort  Mrs.  Lee,  and  pausing  in  the 
midst  of  her  hymn,  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  lady's  arm, 
and  said  — 

**  O,  don't  cry  so  Mrs.  Lee,  thafs  a  great  deal  better 
place  than  this,  there's  no  trouble  there,  and  nobody  ever 
dies,  and  all  good  people  shall  see  each  other  there  again." 

Mrs.  Lee  looked  wonderingly  in  the  face  of  her  little 
comforter.  The  deep  blue  eyes,  so  like  those  that  had 
once  been  turned  lovingly  up  to  her. own  as  she  talked  of 
heaven  and  the  angels,  were  fixed  upon  her.  It  seemed 
as  though  the  spirit  of  her  sainted  child  was  looking  through 
tliem  into  her  very  heart,  and  tenderly  rebuking  her  long- 
cherished  sorrow.      A  feeling  of  awe  stole  over  her,  and 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  167 

pressing  her  lips  to  the  forehe<acl  of  the  little  gH,  she  arose 
and  led  her  from  the  room. 

Mary  went  home  at  evening,  as  happy  as  child  could  be. 
She  carried  a  basket  containing  several  nice  books  for  her- 
self and  Johnny,  some  pretty  stuff  to  make  frocks  for  the 
baby,  and  a  bottle  of  cordial  for  her  grandmother.  There 
was  also  a  mysterious  package  for  her  mother,  neatly  tied 
up,  which  Mary  was  very  curious  about,  but  she  was  too 
w^ell-bred  to  ask  questions.  This  was  a  suitable  mourning 
shawl  for  Mrs.  Elmer.  Mrs.  Lee  accompanied  the  little 
girl  home,  and  frequently  oiFered  to  relieve  her.  But  Mary 
insisted  upon  carrying  the  basket  all  the  way,  declaring 
that  it  wasn't  the  least  bit  heavy.  And  as  she  trudged 
along  she  chattered  incessantly. 

"O  won't  they  be  glad  when  I  come?  How  Johnny 
will  jump  when  he  sees  his  book  !  and  won't  the  baby  look 
j^retty  in  his  new  frocks  !  his  old  ones  are  growing  so 
small,  mother  hasn't  got  him  any  in  ever  so  long.  I 
wonder  if  the  little  rogue  has  missed  me.  It  seems  a  great 
while  since  I  w^ent  away  this  morning,  I  never  was  gone 
so  long  before." 

Thus  she  rattled  on  ;  and  xJrs.  Lee,  who  had  resolved 
upon  asking  Mrs.  Elmer  to  let  her  take  little  Mary,  to 
be  trained  and  educated  as  her  owm  daughter,  abandoned 
the  idea  when  she  saw  how  the  child  loved  her  home  and 
family.  Nay,  she  almost  reproached  herself  for  having  en- 
tertained It.  But  she  had  conceived  a  strong  affection  for 
the  little  creature,  and  determined  to  do  all  that  she  could 
for  her,  without  having  her  constantly  under  her  own  eye. 

As  soon  as  they  entered  the  house,  Mary  rushed  up  to 
the  baby,  wdiom  his  mother  was  undressing,  and  nearly 
smothered  him  wnth  kisses. 


168  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

*'  O  baby,  I've  got  something  for  you,"  she  said,  wav- 
ing the  basket  triumphantly.  '<  And;  Johnny,  you  don't 
know  what  I've  got  for  you.  And,  grandmother,  some- 
tiiing  for  you  too.  And  for  you,  mother.  And  I've  had 
such  a  nice  time.      If  Johnny  had  only  been  there  "  — 

''A\^e  will  hear  about  it  by-and-by,"  said  her  mother, 
as  she  rose  and  pressed  Mrs.  Lee's  hand.  Mary  stopped 
abruptly,  when  she  remembered  who  was  in  the  room,  and 
taking  off  her  bonnet  and  cape,  sat  down  quietly  with  the 
baby  in  her  arms,  somewhat  impatient  it  is  true,  to  display 
the  contents  of  the  basket  and  relate  her  adventures.  In 
fact,  she  could  not  hel^^  whispering  them  over  for  the 
baby's  benefit,  beginning  each  description  thus  :  — 

*<  And  what  do  you  think,  baby,  —  I  saw  —  And 
what  do  you  think,  baby  !  Mrs.  Lee  said  —  And  where 
do  you  think,  baby  !     Harriet  went "  — 

From  this  time  the  circumstances  of  the  Elmers  were 
much  improved.  Many  comforts  were  added  to  their  hum- 
ble dwelling  through  the  kindness  of  their  new  friend,  who 
soon  began  to  consider  the  subject  of  assisting  them  to  hire 
a  more  comfortable  house.  She  had  determined  to  do  so, 
and  was  intending  to  speak  of  it  to  Mrs.  Elmer  very 
shortly,  when  she  was  summoned  to  attend  the  dying-bed 
of  her  sister.  She  had  not  time  to  see  the  Elmers  before 
leavino-.  She  however  penned  a  hasty  note  to  Susan,  in 
v.'hich,  after  stating  the  cause  of  her  sudden  departure,  she 
expressed  the  wish  that  Mrs.  Elmer  would  seek  a  better 
house,  and  to  enable  her  to  do  so,  she  enclosed  an  amount 
sufficient  to  pay  a  quarter's  rent,  as  well  as  what  would  be 
due  on  leaving  her  present  abode,  and  something  over.  "  I 
cannot  tell,"  she  wrote,  "  how  long  I  may  be  absent,  per- 
haps several  months.      If  you  should  want  any  assistance 


Widow   Spriggius   as    she   appeared  while   on   a   bridal  tour. — See 
page  139. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  1G9 

before  I  return,  do  not  hesitate  to  write  to  me  immedi- 
ately "  (here  she  gave  the  address).  <'  I  shall  consider  it 
a  privilege  to  aid  you.  Tell  my  little  Mary  to  come  to  my 
garden  for  flowers  whenever  she  likes,  Peter  will  always 
give  them  to  her,  and  may  the  God  of  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless  bless  and  keep  you  all." 

This  note  she  gave  to  Harriet,  telling  her  that  it  was  im- 
portant, and  she  wished  it  to  be  carried  to  Mrs.  Elmer  as 
soon  as  she  should  be  at  leisure.  Harriet  was  very  busy  at 
the  time,  assisting  in  Mrs.  Lee's  preparations  for  leaving  in 
the  afternoon  run.  Setting  the  house  in  order.  Scatter- 
ing moth-preventives  from  garret  to  cellar.  Folding, 
hanging,  spreading  this,  that  and  the  other  for  safe  keeping, 
and  what  not.  Besides  which  she  had  her  own  trunk  to 
pack,  for  she  was  to  go  to  her  father's,  ten  miles  distant, 
in  the  stage,  which  usually  went  out  about  an  hour  after 
the  cars.  There  she  would  remain  until  Mrs.  Lee's  return. 
The  door-key  was  to  be  entrusted  to  Peter  Jackson,  the 
w^orthy  colored  man  already  spoken  of,  who  always  slept  In 
the  house  during  Mrs.  Lee's  absences.  Harriet  took  the 
note  saying,  as  she  put  it  carefully  in  her  reticule  — 
<*  I  wall  run  down  with  it  as  soon  as  I  see  you  off." 
She  really  Intended  to  do  so.  She  would  not  for  the 
world  have  told  a  lie,  or  wilfully  failed  in  duty  to  her  mis- 
tress, but  —  alas  poor  human  nature  ! 
15 


170  MARY  ELMER,    OR 


CHAPTER  III. 

iS  soon  as  Mrs.  Lee  had  gone,  Harriet  prepared  for 
her  own  departure.  She  dressed  herself  hastily, 
fastened  the  window-shutters,  dragged  her  trunk 
to  the  porch,  locked  the  door  and  ran  down  to 
Peter's  with  the  key.  x\fter  delivering  Mrs.  Lee's  directions 
to  Peter,  she  went  to  the  stage-house  to  bespeak  her 
passage.  Being  told  that  the  stage  would  call  for  her  in 
about  an  hour,  she  hurried  back  to  carry  the  note  to  Mrs. 
Elmer,  who  lived  in  another  direction. 

As  she  was  passing  Deacon  Ludlow's,  which  was  nearly 
opposite  Mrs.  Lee's,  Miss  Eunice  called  to  her  from  the 
window.  The  Ludlows  had  been  watching  the  proceedings 
at  Mrs.  Lee's  with  great  interest  all  the  morning.  They 
had  seen  that  lady  depart,  evidently  on  a  journey,  and  it 
was  much  earlier  than  she  usually  made  her  annual  visit 
east.  But  Harriet  would  come  in  and  tell  them  all  about 
it  soon.  When,  however,  they^  saw  that  she  too  was  prepar- 
ing to  go  away,  they  felt  a  slight  degree  of  uneasiness  ; 
and  seeing  her  at  length  actually  about  to  pass  their  house 
without  stopping,  they  feared  losing  her  altogether  and  not 
finding  out  anything,  and  therefore  arrested  her  progress  as 
above  stated. 

'*  Where  are  you  going,  Harriet?  "  exclaimed  the  mother 
and  three  daughters,  all  in  a  breath. 

"  O  Pve  got  to  go  up  street  on  an  errand,  but  Til  stop 
and  say  good-by  when  I  come  back.'* 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  Ill 

**  O  stop  now,  stop  now ;  can't  you?  " 

*'  Well  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  come  In  a  minute  now, 
the  stage  don't  go  in  nearly  an  hour  yet." 

And  so  she  went  in,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  Ludlows. 
Harriet,  although  as  honest  and  faithful  a  girl  as  ever  lived, 
had  a  great  talent  for  gossiping,  and* not  being  encouraged 
to  exercise  it  at  Mrs.  Lee's,  was  very  glad  to  Indulge  in  an 
occasional  outpouring  at  Deacon  Ludlow's,  where  it  was 
fully  appreciated  and  drawn  out.  In  fact  they  made  a 
good  deal  of  her  there,  always  invited  her  to  attend  the 
weekly  prayer-meeting  whenever  it  was  held  at  their  house, 
and  noticed  her  In  several  ways  In  order  to  keep  her  good 
natured.  Of  course  the  simple-minded  girl  was  flattered 
by  such  attentions,  and  often  "  ran  In,"  after  her  work  was 
done  up,  to  chat  an  hour  or  so  with  them.  She  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  estimation  In  which  they  really  held,  or 
professed  to  hold,  her  among  their  acquaintances,  to  whom 
they  frequently  remarked,  — 

"  What  a  pert,  forward  thing  that  Harriet  is  !  I  wouldn't 
keep  such  a  creature  round  me,  but  I  guess  Mrs.  Lee's  not 
very  particular  who  she  has,  if  she  only  gets  her  work 
done." 

Had  Harriet  known  of  this,  she  never  would  have  gone 
in  there  again.  Not  so  much  on  her  own  account  as  Mrs. 
Lee's,  with  whom  she  had  lived  nearly  seven  years  without 
a  wish  to  change  her  place,  and  whom  she  regarded  as  ap- 
proaching nearer  to  perfection  than  any  other  living  person. 

On  this  occasion  the  Ludlows  had  a  thousand  questions 
to  ask  ;  and  Harriet,  in  her  zeal  to  tell  all  the  whys  and  the 
wherefores,  the  hows  and  the  whens  of  jNIrs.  Lee's  move- 
ments, as  well  as  her  own,  allowed  her  minute  to  be  a  very 
long  one.     After  running  on  for  half  an  hour  with  great 


172  iVARY  ELMER,    OR 

velocity,  she  jumped  up  suddenly,  declaring  she  must  go, 
for  she'd  got  to  take  a  note  to  Mrs.  Elmer.  But  then  she 
was  assailed  with  another  volley  of  questions,  on  the  subject 
of  Mrs.  Lee's  intercourse  with  the  Elmers,  and  she  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  sit  down  a  moment  longer  and 
tell  about  Mrs.  Lee's  kindness  to  that  family,  at  least  as 
much  as  she  knew  about  it,  for  she  had  often  been  sent 
tliere  with  vegetables  and  other  things.  '*  And  sometimes 
there  was  such  a  load  that  Peter  Jackson  had  to  go  with 
it." 

'«  O,  she  does  a  great  deal  for  them,  and  there's  many  a 
poor  fomily  can  say  the  same.  She's  always  doing  good, 
I  never  saw  the  beat  of  it ;  why,  some  folks  would  get  rich 
on  what  she  gives  away  "  ^— 

' '  I  wonder  if  she  don't  expect  to  ride  to  heaven  on  her 
irood  works,"  said  Mrs.  Ludlow. 

"  "Well,  I  guess  that's  a  pretty  sure-footed  horse  any 
way,"  responded  Harriet  with  some  warmth. 

*' O  Harriet,  Harriet !  "  said  Mrs.  Ludlow  solemnly, 
"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  so,  it  shows  what  influence 
you've  been  under.  Don't  you  know  the  Bible  says  our 
own  righteousness  is  but  filthy  rags?  Nothing  but  a  living 
faith  can  save  us." 

*'Yes,  I  know  it,  a  /m?zo- faith,  and  that's  just  Mrs. 
Lee's  kind  of  faith,  for  '  faith  without  works  is  dead^^  the 
same  Bible  says,  you  know." 

<'  I'm  glad  you  read  your  Bible,"  said  Mrs.  Ludlow  with 
a  slight  sneer,  for  she  felt  a  little  chagrined  that  the  girl 
was  able  to  give  her  blow  for  blow  with  her  own  weapons. 
Harriet  noticed  the  sneer  and  answered,  — 

"  Well,  I  won't  take  credit  that  isn't  my  due.  I  own  I 
don't  read  my  Bible  as  much  as  I  ought  to,  though  I've  no 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  173 

excuse,  for  I've  got  a  beautiful  one  that  Mrs.  Lee  gave  me. 
But  I  hear  it  read  every  night  and  morning,  so  I  know 
something  about  what's  in  it." 

Perhaps  she  would  have  made  a  few  more  quotations, 
had  she  not  at  that  moment  heard  the  stao-e  horn. 

*  *  O  dear  me  !  what  shall  I  do  !  there's  the  stao-e  and  I 

o 

haven't  carried  the  note  to  Mrs.  Elmer  !  " 

'*  Never  mind,"  said  Miss  Eunice,  *'  Sam  can  run  down 
with  it,  or  one  of  us  can  take  it  to  Mrs.  Elmer  !  " 

Poor  Harriet  had  no  resource  but  to  accept  Miss  Ludlow's 
offer.  So  she  gave  her  the  note  saying  that  it  was  very 
important,  and  she  would  like  her  to  have  it  sent  as  soon 
as  possible.  She  then  hastened  out,  and  saw  the  stage 
still  at  a  little  distance  off,  taking  in  some  passengers.  At 
the  same  moment  she  observed  Sam  Ludlow  standing  by 
Mrs.  Lee's  gate  watching  the  approach  of  the  stage. 

"  I'll  give  it  to  Sam  myself,"  said  she,  turning  back  to 
the  window  in  time  to  see  the  four  Ludlows'  heads  close 
together  over  the  note,  which  Miss  Eunice  was  holding  up 
to  the  light.  Just  in  the  midst  of  their  comments  upon  it, 
they  were  startled  by  the  voice  of  Harriet  shouting,  — 

"  Give  it  to  me  !  there's  Sam  by  our  house." 

Eunice  could  do  no  less  than  surrender  the  note,  thouorh 
she  would  gladly  have  kept  it  a  little  longer  to  satisfy  her- 
self in  regard  to  its  contents.  Harriet  was  somewhat  vexed 
at  the  curiosity  of  the  Ludlows,  and  felt  glad  to  ^Qt  the 
note  back  again,  she  thought  it  was  much  better  to  give  it 
to  Sam  herself,  and  see  him  start  with  it,  then  she  should 
feel  as  though  it  would  reach  its  destination  safely.  Sam 
Ludlow  was  a  lubberly  boy  of  fourteen.  He  was  often 
hanging  about  Mrs.  Lee's  gate,  and  had  several  times  gone 
on  errands  for  Harriet,  for  which  she  always  paid  him  a 
15* 


174  3IAEY  ELMER,    OR 

sixpence  in  advance.  Sam  was  very  fond  of  a  sixpence, 
and  was  much  more  ready  to  do  errands  for  Harriet  than 
for  his  mother  or  sisters,  as  they  would  not  pay  him. 

"  Here,  Sam,"  said  she,  "  I  want  you  to  take  this  jiote 
to  Mrs.  Ehner  right  away,  I'm  going  in  the  stage  and 
haven't  time." 

"  Who  was  your  waiter  hist  year?  "  was  Sam's  reply. 

Harriet  knew  that  this  was  the  way  in  which  the  inter- 
esting youth  usually  answered  his  sisters  when  they  re- 
quested him  to  do  anything,  and  she  remembered  that  she 
had  always  paid  him  for  waiting  upon  her.  But  she  had 
now  no  change  in  her  purse,  her  money  was  in  bills,  she 
could  only  promise  a  reward,  she  however  persevered. 

*'  Do  take  it  for  me, Sam,  that's  a  good  fellow,  and  when 
I  come  back  I'll  o-ive  vou  a  shilling. " 

"  Give  it  to  me  now." 

*'  I  can't,  I  haven't  got  the  change,  my  money  is  all  in 
bills.  Will  you  take  it?  see,  the  stage  is  close  by,  I'll 
surely  pay  you  the  shilling  when  I  come  back,  and  that 
will  be  before  long  I  expect." 

''  Swear  you'll  do  it." 

"No,  Sam,  I  won't  swear,  that's  wicked;  but  I  sol- 
emnly promise." 

"  Well,  kiss  my  jack-knife  then,  it's  all  the  same  in 
Dutch."  And  he  took  out  the  weapon  so  dear  to  every 
boy's  heart,  and  held  it  up  before  her.  They  were  lifting 
her  trunk  to  the  stage  top. 

'*  Will  you  carry  the  note  if  I'll  kiss  that?  " 

*'  As  sure  as  gunfiints." 

*'  And  right  away,  without  going  home  first?" 

**  Kight  off,  as  quick  as  a  streak  'o  lightning." 

*'  Are  you  coming?"  shouted  the  driver. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  175 

Harriet  kissed  the  jack-knife,  gave  Sam  the  note,  and 
jumped  into  the  stage,  calling  after  Sam  to  be  very  care- 
ful, and  not  loiter  a  moment  on  the  way.  As  she 
stretched  her  neck  out  of  the  stage  window,  she  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  the  young  gentleman  start  on  his  ex- 
pedition ;  not  quite  so  quick  as  lightning,  but  at  a  very 
brisk  pace. 

His  sisters  called  to  him  from  the  window,  but  he  hur- 
ried on  without  noticing  them.  Not  so  much  that  he 
wished  to  do  his  errand  faithfully,  as  because  **  he  didn't 
care  for  them." 

"  She's  mighty  anxious  about  this  note,  seems  to  me," 
said  Sam,  mentally,  as  he  went  on  his  way. 

"  Wonder  what  it's  about !  feels  as  though  there  was 
something  in  it  —  shouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  money  —  pay 
for  sewing  I  'spose." 

The  note  had  been  hastily  written,  and  the  envelope 
fastened  lightly  with  a  wafer.  Sam  thought  he'd  like  to 
just  see  what  was  inside.  Harriet  was  only  a  hired  girl, 
what  did  he  care  for  her  !  Some  other  vague  thoughts 
floated  through  his  mind.  He  determined  to  open  it ;  he 
could  easily  stick  it  together  again  if  he  wanted  to.  So 
he  turned  to  see  whether  the  stao;e  was  out  of  sio^ht.  It 
was  no  longer  visible. 

A  few  paces  on  he  turned  aside  into  a  narrow  lane, 
went  behind  an  old  shed,  no  mortal  eye  was  upon  him,  he 
felt  quite  safe ;  and,  taking  out  his  jack-knife,  he  slipped 
the  blade  under  the  wafer,  which  yielded  without  difficulty, 
and  Sam  found  his  conjectures  correct.  There  was 
money,  more  money  than  he  had  ever  seen  together  be- 
fore. He  blundered  through  the  note  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  found  that  the  money  was  a  gift,  not  from  Harriet, 


176  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

but  from  Mrs.  Lee.  lie  thought  of  several  things  that  he 
wanted  very  much,  especially  a  fighting-cock,  owned  by  a 
man  who  kept  a  ten-pin  alley,  and  numerous  other  articles 
quite  as  useful  and  desirable.  The  temptation  was  strong. 
He  saw  that  the  amount  was  not  mentioned  in  the  note. 
There  were  several  bills ;  he  could  take  one,  it  never 
would  be  found  out.  So  he  stuffed  a  <*five"  into  his 
pocket,  wet  the  wafer  a  little  and  fastened  it  down  again, 
and  then  contemplated  his  work  with  satisfaction. 

It  was  well  done.  Nobody  would  ever  have  suspected 
that  the  note  had  been  opened.  He  went  on  a  few  steps, 
and  then  paused  to  contemplate  it  again  ;  and  as  he  did  so 
he  reflected,  *'  Why  not  take  the  whole  while  it  was  In  his 
power?  But  Harriet  and  Mrs.- Lee  would  come  back, 
and  then  he  would  be  found  out.  What  then  ?  "  "  Never 
mind,"  said  the  tempter  in  his  ear.  *'The  old  man'U 
have  to  fork  over,  that's  all,  and  you'll  have  the  good  of 
the  money." 

**  And  the  old  woman,"  thought  Sam,  **  how  she'll  jaw 
and  jaw,  if  I'm  ever  found  out." 

''  Never  mind  that  neither,"  pursued  the  tempter, 
«'  they  can't  blame  you,  they  expect  you  to  cut  up  now, 
you  aint  converted  yet." 

**  So  here  goes,"  said  Sam,  and  he  tore  open  the  enve- 
lope, took  out  the  rest  of  the  money,  chewed  the  note  until 
it  became  a  soft  wad,  then  threw  it  at  the  old  shed,  where 
for  aught  I  know  to  the  contrary,  it  is  sticking  to  this  day. 
He  then  took  his  way  to  the  residence  of  the  game-cock's 
owner,  where  he  astonished  divers  young  gentlemen  by  his 
display  of  the  ready ^  although  he  was  careful  not  to  ex- 
hibit the  whole  amount  in  his  possession.  It  was  a  strange 
thino-  to  see  Sam  Ludlow  with  more  than  a  shillinsj  in  his 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  177 

hands,  and  of  course  the  ''  five"  which  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  created  some  surprise. 

*'  Why,  Sam,  where  did  you  get  so  much?  "  '*  Found 
the  way  to  the  old  man's  locker?"  "Old  boy  loosened 
his  purse  strings  at  last,  eh?"  were  some  of  the  questions 
showered  upon  the  young  thief.  Bat  he  contrived  to 
evade  them.  "  Pity  if  he  couldn't  have  a  little  money  as 
well  as  other  folks.  He  didn't  see  what  there  was  to 
make  such  a  thundering  fuss  about." 

When  Sam  left  the  ten -pin  alley,  his  five  was  nearly 
exhausted.  He  had  entered  to  his  heart's  content  into 
the  amusements  of  the  establishment.  A  thing  which  he 
had  not  been  able  to  do  before  for  want  of  funds.  He 
had  also  regaled  himself  with  various  good  things  ;  and  as 
he  walked  homewards  with  his  long-desired  game-cock 
under  his  arm,  he  felt  a  high  degree  of  satisfaction  ;  for, 
notwithstanding  he  had  lost  all  that  he  staked  in  the 
games,  he  still  had  a  large  sum  left,  upon  which  he  meant 
to  revel  for  a  long  time  to  come. 

On  his  arrival  at  home,  his  sisters  questioned  him  con- 
cernlno:  the  note.     But  he  G^ave  them  no  satisfaction. 

*'  Didn't  you  notice  what  was  in  it  when  she  opened 
it." 

**  No  ;  I  didn't  go  in  the  house  at  all." 

*'  Well,  I  should  like  to  know  whether  there  was  money 
in  that  note.  Why  didn't  you  wait  a  minute  and  see,  you 
stupid  fellow  !  " 

*'  What  do  you  s'pose  I  cared  about  knowing  what  w.is 
in  the  plaguey  note  ?     What  business  was  it  of  mine  ?  " 

The  game-cock  did  not  attract  much  attention  at  the 
deacon's  Sam  was  always  bringing  home  something  of 
the  animal  kind  to  annoy  the  family,  and  generally  bar- 
gained it  away  for  something  else  in  a  few  days. 


178  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

Deacon  Ludlow,  although  himself  a  worthy,  religious 
man,  unfortunately  took  very  little  pains  with  the  early 
training  of  his  children.  He  never  questioned  Sam  in  re- 
gard to  where  he  spent  his  evenings.  In  fact,  he  seldom 
reproved  him  for  anything.  Mrs.  Ludlow,  it  is  true, 
scolded  and  fretted  at  the  boy  frequently,  but  he  regarded 
her  words  no  more  than  the  idle  wind.  Sam  Ludlow  had 
started  in  the  road  to  destruction,  and  there  was  no  voice 
to  call  him  back. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IHE  Elmers  wondered  what  had  become  of  Mrs. 
Lee.  Many  days  passed  without  one  of  her  wel- 
come visits.  The  chatty,  good-natured  Harriet, 
too,  they  missed  her  almost  daily  calls.  And  it 
was  but  natural  that  they  should  miss  the  comforts  she 
was  wont  to  bring.  After  some  time  it  was  settled  that 
they  must  have  gone  away.  At  length  they  questioned 
Peter  Jackson  as  he  was  passing  one  day,  and  from  him 
they  learned  the  facts. 

About  a  fortnight  after  Mrs.  Lee's  departure,  Mrs. 
Elmer's  mother  was  suddenly  reduced  to  a  state  of  entire 
helplessness  by  another  paralytic  stroke.  She  was  con- 
fined wholly  to  her  bed.  Her  mind  also  was  greatly  af- 
fected, and  she  showed  an  irritability  and  fretfulness  quitS 
foreio-n  to  her  nature.  Susan's  labors  were  increased  ten- 
fold   by  this  calamity.     Her  mother  required  more  care 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  179 

than  an  infant,  and  could  not  bear  to  have  Susan  out  of 
her  sight  for  a  moment.  Her  speech  was  much  impaired, 
but  her  sight  and  hearing  were,  if  anything,  quickeiled. 
She  would  have  the  window- curtains  down,  for  the  broad 
daylight  hurt  her  eyes.  The  children's  noise  disturbed 
her  very  much,  and  Susan  was  obliged  to  send  the  two 
older  ones  out  of  doors  to  play,  many  times  when  she 
would  gladly  have  kept  them  in.  Her  sewing  too,  had  to 
be  almost  wholly  abandoned.  She  had  but  little  time  for 
it  during  the  day,  and  then  the  room  was  so  dark  that  she 
could  scarcely  see  at  all.  When  the  evening  came,  and 
the  little  ones  were  all  gone  to  their  rest,  the  old  mother, 
too,  at  last  asleep,  and  Susan  sat  down  with  her  work  in 
hand,  she  was  usually  so  worn  and  weary  that  her  fingers 
almost  refused  to  move. 

Things  went  on  in  this  way  for  a  month,  and  Susan's 
resources  were  nearly  gone.  She  had  for  some  time  past 
reduced  her  own  and  her  children's  food  to  the  smallest 
possible  quantity,  and  that  of  the  coarsest  kind.  A  little 
of  a  better  quality  she  still  managed  to  procure  for  her 
mother,  and  the  old  woman  complained  that  this  was  not 
as  good  as  she  wished.  Susan  knew  that  her  poor  mother 
was  not  herself  any  longer,  and  she  never  manifested  the 
least  impatience  with  her  murmuring.  But  she  missed  her 
encouraging  words,  the  *' trust  in  the  Lord,  my  child. 
He  will  not  forsake  you,"  with  which  she  used  to  cheer 
her  in  times  of  despondency.  And  she  thought  if  her 
mother  would  only  speak  so  now,  she  could  bear  up  better 
under  her  trials. 

►  And  George,  too,  how  she  missed  Jiim  now  !  more  than 
ever  —  more  every  day.  She  could  not  help  it.  The 
future  looked  very  dark.     Pay-day  was  drawing  on,  and 


180  *   MAEY  ELMER,    OR 

where  was  her  rent  to  come  from  !  Pay-day  came,  and 
Susan  was  not  ready.  The  landlord,  a  hard-fisted,  grasp- 
ing man,  called  for  his  dues.  Mrs.  Elmer  told  him  It 
was  utterly  impossible  for  her  to  pay  then,  she  had  not  a 
dollar,  but  if  he  would  give  her  a  few  days' time,  she  hoped 
to  be  able  to  satisfy  him.  He  appeared  to  doubt  her 
word,  and  pointing  to  the  mantel-clock  (George's  last 
gift  before  he  went  from  home) ,  he  intimated  a  wish  to 
take  possession  of  it. 

"  I'll  take  that,"  he  said,  *' seeing  you  don't  seem  to 
have  anything  else  that's  worth  much  ;  though  it's  a  poor 
concern,  still,  I  don't  know  but  I'll  take  it  and  let  you  off, 
considering." 

Susan  looked  at  him  with  astonishment.  She  was  not 
accustomed  to  such  meanness.  She  knew  that  the  clock 
had  cost  more  than  double  the  amount  of  her  debt,  and 
she  knew  that  the  man  must  be  aware  of  its  value.  She 
hesitated   a   while.      It   went   to  her  heart  to  part  with  it. 

*'  Well,  what  do  you  say?  shall  I  take  it?" 

"  It  is  a  valuable  clock,  sir,  it  cost  more  than  twice  as 
much  as  I  owe  you,  and  has  not  been  in  use  a  year  yet." 

The  man  advanced  close  to  her,  and  impertinently  ex- 
amined her  brooch,  which  she  always  wore. 

**  That'll  do,"  said  he,  after  satisfying  himself  that  it 
was  real  gold.  *'  I'll  take  that  if  you  aint  a  mind  to  let 
the  clock  go.  I'll  take  it  and  say  square;  guess  it's  worth 
five  dollars.  You  owe  me  twelve ;  but  considering  your 
circumstances,  I'll  be  satisfied  with  that." 

Long  before  the  conclusion  of  this  speech,  Susan  had 
covered  her  brooch  with  her  hand,  as  if  his  very  look  wer» 
profanation  ;  and  when  he  finished,  she  turned  towiuds  the 
clock,  and  said  hurriedly,  — 


TRIALS  AND   CUAHGUS.  181 

'«  Take  that." 

He  j)i'oceede(l  to  take  it  down,  and  after  It  was  safely  in 
his  possession,  he  told  Mrs.  Ehner  that  she  must  vacate 
the  ho,use  before  night,  as  he  had  rented  it  to  some  one 
who  would  be  ready  pay.  Susan's  indignation  was  roused 
at  this  shameful  injustice,  and  she  said,  — 

<'  Surely,  you  do  not  mean  to  turn  me  out  of  the  house 
now,  with  my  helpless  mother  and  little  ones.  That 
clock,  too,  is  fully  worth  another  quarter's  rent,  and  a 
good  deal  more.  You  will  allow  me  to  remain  a  few 
weeks,  and  meantime  I  will  be  looking  for  another  house." 

**  This  clock  worth  another  quarter's  rent,  hey  !  "  and 
he  laughed  heartily  at  the  idea.  *' Why,  woman,  you 
know  nothing  about  the  value  of  things,  if  you  did  you'd 
think  I've  let  you  off  pretty  easy.  As  for  the  house, 
didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  let  it  already  to  a  family  that's  to  take 
possession  to-morrow.  I've  done  the  best  I  can  by  you. 
Everybody  must  look  to  their  own  interest,  you  know,  and 
if  I  have  a  chance  to  let  a  tenement  to  better  advantao-e 
than  I  can  to  you,  why  of  course  it's  my  duty  to  do  it.  I 
owe  it  to  my  own  family ;  scripture,  you  know,  says 
everybody  must  provide  for  their  own." 

Susan  said  no  more,  she  was  not  accustomed  to  disput- 
ing, and  she  allowed  the  face-grinder  to  depart  without 
farther  parley.  When  he  reached  the  door,  he  turned 
back  and  remarked  that  "  he  should  expect  to  find  the 
premises  cleared  early  in  the  morning  of  the  followino- 
day."  She  merely  bowed  in  reply,  and  he  went  away,  to 
her  great  relief. 

But  where  should  she  go  ?     No  home  and  no  means  of 
procuring  one.     It  was  still  early  in  the  day,  not  more 
than  ten  o'clock.     The  old  woman  appeared  confused  and 
16 


182  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

puzzled  at  the  scene  which  had  just  taken  place,  and  asked 
some  questions,  although  she  did  not  comprehend  anything 
of  it.  Susan  brought  her  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bit  of  toast, 
sat  by  her,  and  answered  her  questions  in  a  manner  that 
satisfied  her,  and  before  long  she  fell  Into  a  sound  sleep. 
Susan  Immediately  gave  the  baby  Into  Mary's  charge,  told 
Johnny  to  sit  quietly  beside  his  grandmother's  bed  unlll 
her  return,  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  slipped 
quietly  Into  the  street. 

Where  should  she  go?  where,  where?  If  Mrs.  Lee 
w^ere  only  at  home  !  The  thought  of  writing  to  her  for 
aid  to  enable  her  to  remain  in  her  present  abode,  crossed 
her  mind.  But  it  was  too  late.  She  must  quit  to-day. 
She  looked  up  the  street  and  then  down,  undecided  which 
w^ay  to  go. 

At  length  her  eye  fell  upon  an  old,  brown,  barnish  look- 
ing house,  standing  alone  on  a  slight  eminence,  a  little  out 
of  the  town.  She  knew  it  was  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Mad- 
dock,  tlie  woman  with  whom  she  learned  the  business  of 
dressmaking.  Now  a  widow  like  herself,  and  poor,  too, 
but  not  In  want,  for  she  owned  the  house  which  she  occu- 
pied, and  by  her  own  labors,  she  still  pursued  her  former 
occupation,  supported  herself  and  two  children,  something 
older  than  Susan's  two  eldest.  She  had  also  four  children 
still  older,  who  were  all  earning  their  own  living  at  differ- 
ent trades.  Two  sons  had  gone  from  home,  and  two 
daughters,  tailoresses,  boarded  with  their  mother  and  took 
in  work  from  the  shops. 

Thither  Susan  determined  to  bend  her  steps.  She  had 
not  seen  much  of  ]\Irs.  Maddock  since  her  marrlao-e,  but 
she  remembered  her  as  a  very  kind-liearted  woman. 

**  Perhaps  she    can    help   me,"    thought    the    desolate 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  183 

woman  as  she  pursued  her  way.  «' I  recollect  how  kind 
she  used  to  be  to  us  apprentice  girls.  How  in  pleasant 
weather  she  always  sent  us  out  on  the  grass  plot  twice  a 
day  to  have  a  romp,  and  stretch  our  limbs.  She  said 
our  health  required  it.  And  what  pleasant  cooling  drinks 
she  used  to  make  for  us  in  hot  days." 

Many  other  little  circumstances  Susan  recalled  as  she 
went  along,  all  of  them  in  Mrs.  M.'s  favor,  and  she  could 
not  help  feeling  that  she  would  do  something  for  her  now. 
Nor  was  she  mistaken — Mrs.  Maddock  had  heard  of 
George  Elmer's  death,  but  not  of  the  circumstances  of  his 
family.  She  listened  to  Susan's  sad  story  with  tears,  and 
when  it  was  ended,  freely  offered  her  a  shelter  in  her  own 
house. 

"  There  is  one  good-sized  room  at  liberty,  on  the  ground 
floor  too,  and  if  you  can  gQt  along  with  that,  come.  We're 
poor  but  we  have  health,  and  no  helpless  ones  amongst  us." 

"  But  perhaps  I  never  shall  be  able  to  pay  you." 

"  Don't  borrow  any  trouble  about  that,  dear.  If  you 
ever  should  be  able  to  pay  me,  as  I  hope  you  will  for  your 
own  sake,  why  well  and  good.  And  if  you  shouldn't 
'tvvont  kill  me.  I  shan't  be  any  poorer  for  it  a  hundred 
years  hence." 

"  No, indeed  you  will  not,"  said  Susan  as  grateful  tears 
fell  from  her  eyes.  *'  '  He  that  giveth  to  the  poor  lendeth 
unto  the  Lord ; '  and  He  will  surely  reward  you  whether  I 
ever  can  or  not." 

She  then  arose,  saying  that  she  would  go  and  hire  a  cart 
to  remove  her  furniture. 

*'Wait  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  M.,  ''and  I  will  run 
over  and  see  if  Neighbor  Grey's  team  is  at  liberty  to-day, 
if  it  should  be  it  will  save  you  the  expense  of  a  cart,  for 
they  have  offered  me  the  use  of  it  whenever  I  wish." 


184  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

So  she  hastened  to  Neighbor  Grey's,  and  soon  returned 
with  the  pleasing  intelligence,  that  she  could  have  the 
team  all  the  afternoon,  and  David  Grey  to  drive.  It  was 
arranged  that  immediately  after  dinner,  she  would  come 
down  with  David  and  the  team.  She  would  have  a  bed 
laid  in  the  wagon,  and  Mrs.  Grant  should  be  removed  be- 
fore anything  else,  lest  she  might  be  worried  by  the  noise 
and  confusion. 

When  Susan  returned  home,  she  found  things  just  as 
she  had  left  them,  and  her  mother  still  sleeping.  She 
prepared  their  scanty  dinner,  and  soon  after  they  had 
eaten  it,  the  old  woman  awaked.  While  Susan  was 
giving  her  a  rather  more  substantial  meal  than  the  rest  of 
them  had  enjoyed,  she  told  her  of  the  approaching  change 
in  their  circumstances,  and  at  length  succeeded  in  making 
her  understand  that  they  were  going  to  a  new  home,  much 
more  comfortable  than  the  present  one,  where  they  would 
have  no  .stairs  to  ascend,  and  where  a  very  nice  woman 
was  living. 

She  appeared  rather  pleased  with  the  Idea  of  a  change, 
and  when  the  kind-lookino^  Mrs.  Maddock,  and  the  orood- 
natured  David  Grey  soon  after  came  in,  she  was  quite 
willing  to  have  them  and  Susan  lift  her  gently  from  the 
bed  and  carry  her  out  to  the  wagon.  They  laid  her  in  an 
easy  position  on  the  soft  bed  and  pillows  which  Mrs.  Mad- 
dock  had  arranged,  and  Susan  seated  herself  beside  her  on 
the  bed,  holding  a  parasol  to  shade  her  face.  Mrs.  Mad- 
dock  went- on  the  sidewalk  carrying  the  baby,  while  Mary 
and  Johnny  trotted  behind  her  as  merry  as  birds,  shouting 
and  talking  to  the  baby,  who  crowed  and  laughed  biick  to 
them.  They  reached  the  house  before  theT  rest  of  the 
party,  who  advanced  very  slowly  and   carefully.     Susan 


TRIALS  AND   CUANGES.  \Sb 

talked  cheerfully  to  her  mother,  and  the  old  woman  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  ride  very  much. 

AVhen  they  arrived  at  Mrs.  Maddock's,.Mrs.  Grant  was 
laid  upon  Mrs.  M.'s  bed  until  her  own  could  be  prepared. 
She  appeared  rather  uneasy  at  being  in  a  strange  house, 
and  would  not  suffer  Susan  to  leave  her  at  all.  Therefore 
Mrs.  Maddock  kindly  offered  to  go  back  with  the  wagon 
and  superintend  the  loading  up  of  the  furniture.  There 
was  not  much,  and  it  was  soon  transported.  The  small 
23lece  of  carpet  was  laid  down,  the  bed  was  set  up,  and  the 
old  woman  was  deposited  on  it,  to  change  no  more  until 
she  should  lie  down  in  the  last  resting-place  of  us  all. 

As  Susan  went  about,  arranging  her  few  articles  in  the 
quiet  room,  she  felt  a  degree  of  satisfaction  that  she  had 
not  known  for  months.  For  she  was  sure  that,  happen 
what  mlgl^t,  there  was  now  no  danger  of  her  poor  mother 
and  little  ones  being  turned  into  the  street.  She  was 
more  cheerful  than  she  had  been  in  a  lono^,  lono-  time. 
There  was  a  certain  hymn  which  she  used  to  be  fond  of 
singing,  and  George  of  hearing,  and  this  evening  as  she 
rocked  her  baby  to  sleep,  she  sang  it  for  the  first  time 
since  she  had  heard  of  her  husband's  death.  It  had  a 
chorus  which  ran  thus  ; — 

"  Look  up,  my  soul  I  be  like  the  lark 
That  singing  soars  afar  — 
There's  ne'er  a  cloud  however  dark 
But  veils  a  shining  star." 

When  she  had  laid  her  baby  down  and  ceased  singing, 
her  mother,  who  had  been  lying  very  quietly  for  sometime, 
said,  "  Sing  it  again,  child." 
16* 


186  MARY  ELMJER,    OR 

Surprised  and  pleased  Susan  complied,  and  when  she 
had  finished,  the  old  woman  said, 

«'  Once  more,  my  child,  it  sounds  so  good." 

So  she  sang  It  a  third  time,  with  a  tremulous  voice  and 
sheddino-  thankful  tears  all  the  while.  And  when  it  w^as 
ended,  the  old  mother  took  up  the  last  words,  "shining 
star,"  and  murmured  them  over  several  times,  each  time 
fainter,  until  they  died  away  entirely,  and  she  fell  asleep. 

The  children,  who  were  in  their  little  bed,  had  been 
lying  awake,  -listening  to  their  mother,  and  presently  she 
heard  Mary  say  in  a  low  voice, 

*'  Johnny,  are  you  awake?" 

"  Yes,  are  you?" 

*'  Yes,  did  you  hear  mother  sing?" 

'*  I  guess  I  did,  didn't  It  sound  pleasant,  Mary?" 

"  O,  It  did.  It  made  me  think  of  the  angels  with  shln- 
ino'  wino's  that  live  above  the  clouds." 

<'  So  It  did  me,  how  funny  that  we  should  think  of  the 
same  thing  !  " 

"  So  It  was,  Johnny,  it  made  me  think  of  father  too,  did 
it  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  thought  about  father  while  I  was  thinking  of 
the  angels." 

**  So  did  I.  He  used  to  like  to  hear  mother  sing  that, 
you  know." 

'*DIdhe?  I  forget." 

*«  Why  yes,  Johnny,  don't  you  remember  how  he  used 
to  say,  «  Come,  Susey,  sing  the  ''shining  star  "?" 

*'  O  yes,  I  do  remember  about  It  now." 

*'  I  wonder  If  he  heard  her  sing  it  now  !  "  said  the  little 
girl  musingly.  And  then  they  went  to  sleep  with  their 
arms  round  each  other's  necks. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  187 

As  Susan  sat  by  her  little  taper,  she  thought  over  these 
childish  words.  She  thought  too  of  her  mother's  pleasure 
while  she  was  singing,  and  of  her  peaceful  falling  asleep 
afterwards.  Then  she  wondered  that  she  had  so  long  lost 
siaht  of  the  "  shinino:  star,"  and  was  glad  she  had  found 
it  again.  It  had  made  them  all  so  happy.  And  she  knelt 
down  and  prayed  that  her  afflictions  might  soften  her  heart, 
and  draw  her  nearer  to  God.  That  she  might  no  longer 
look  at  the  cloud,  but  through  It,  and  ever  keep  her  eye 
upon  the  "shining  star"  beyond.  From  this  time  she 
went  about  her  daily  round  of  toilsome  duties,  resigned, 
and  even  cheerful,  and  every  night  she  sang  the  "  Shining 
Star." 


CHAPTER  V. 

RS.  ELMER  was  much  more  comfortable  at  Mrs. 
Maddock's  than  she  had  been  before  since  Mrs. 
Lee  went  away.  Her  quarters  were  narrow,  it  is 
true,  but  there  was  a  shady,  pleasant  door-yard, 
where  Mrs.  Maddock  permitted  the  children  to  play  when- 
ever they  chose.  There  they  passed  several  hours  when  the 
weather  was  fine.  And  sometimes  they  had  the  baby  with 
them  in  a  little  wagon  belonging  to  Jane  and  Sarah, 
Mrs.  Maddock's  little  girls.  Meanwhile  their  mother  was 
busy  within,  now  at  the  old  woman's  bedside,  now  at  her 
household  work,  and  now  patching  and  mending  for  herself 
and  children. 


188  MAEY  ELMER,    OR 

Her  evenings  Susan  devoted  to  sewing  for  ]\Irs.  Mad- 
dock.  By  this  means  she  hoped  to  pay  her  rent,  and  she 
was  therefore  surprised  when  after  finishing  the  first  piece, 
that  good  woman  proflPered  her  full  pay. 

«'  O  no,  Mrs.  Maddock,"  said  Susan,  "  I  wish  to  pay 
the  rent  of  my  room  in  this  way." 

''Fie!  fie!  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  M.,  throwing  the 
money  into  her  lap,  "  don't  speak  of  that  again,  if  you  do 
I  shall  be  offended.  Don't  you  know  you  must  have 
something  coming  in  to  live  on?  You  may  just  as  well 
help  me  about  my  sewing,  as  to  take  it  in  on  your  own  hook, 
I  have  more  calls  than  I  can  possibly  attend  to.  And 
besides,  my  eyes  are  not  as  strong  as  they  once  were.  I 
can't  sew  of  evenings  any  more  excepting  on  the  plainest 
parts,  and  your  help  will  be  a  great  accommodation  to  me. 
It  will  enable  me  to  serve  all  my  customers.  So  if  you 
will  just  take  hold  and  lend  me  a  hand  whenever  you  feel 
like  it,  and  allow  me  to  pay  you  what  it's  worth,  I  assure 
you  it  will  not  only  be  some  assistance  to  you,  but  'twill 
actually  put  money  in  my  pocket  too." 

**  Thank  you!  thank  you!  Mrs.  Maddock.  Then  I 
will  do  the  nicest  parts  and  you  the  plainest,  for  my  eyes 
are  perfectly  strong  and  good  yet." 

**  Agreed,  that's  a  nice  arrangement.  But  you  mustn't 
try  your  eyes  too  much  and  spoil  them  while  you're  a 
young  woman.  You  shall  have  one  of  my  lard  lamps  in 
here.  I  have  two,  and  the  girls  and  I  never  use  but  one 
at  a  time.  They  give  a  bright  light  and  then  they're  very 
economical.  You  can  burn  any  kind  of  grease  in  them, 
and  that  saves  the  expense  of  oil." 

Susan  thanked  her  again,  and  said  she  hoped  there 
would  come  a  time  when  she  should  be  able  to  repay  some 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  189 

of  this  kindness,  and  the  conversation  ended  with  Mrs. 
Haddock's  commanding  her  never  again  to  speak  of  obli- 
gation. 

This  worthy  woman's  kindness  did  not  stop  here. 
Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  some  token  of  her  interest  in 
the  Elmers.  A  pie  or  a  cake  for  the  children.  And  often 
a  bit  of  fish,  an  Qgg,  or  some  other  little  delicacy  for  the 
old  woman.     And  every  morning  a  pitcher  of  milk. 

«*  You  will  at  least  take  pay  for  the  milk,"  said  Susan, 
almost  imploringly. 

"  Bless  your  soul  and  body,  dear  woman,"  Mrs.  Mad- 
dock  replied,  "  do  you  think  I  shall  be  any  the  poorer  in 
a  hundred  years  for  giving  you  a  little  milk  ?  I  never  sell 
milk  to  anybody  that's  worse  off  than  I  am.  My  cow's  a 
first-rate  animal.  I  make  all  my  own  butter  and  have 
several  pots  to  spare  every  fall..  And  when  a  rich  family 
wants  to  buy  milk  of  me,  why  I  take  the  pay  of  course. 
But  as  for  selling  milk  to  poor  folks,  I  can't  do  that.  My 
mother  before  me  never  did  it,  and  I  never  will." 

"  Your  mother  must  have  been  very  good." 

*'  Good  !  I  never  saw  the  like  of  her.  I  didn't  know 
how  good  she  wns  when  I  was  a  young,  giddy  girl.  It 
wasn't  so  much  by  what  she  said  as  by  what  she  did,  that 
she  showed  her  goodness.  But  after  she  was  dead-  and 
ffone  I  beo-an  to  realize  it.  And  when  I  was  married  and 
■  w^ent  away,  and  saw  more  of  the  world,  then  it  struck  me 
how  much  better  my  mother  was  than  most  of  people.  And 
when  my  family  began  to  grow  up  round  me,  and  I  had 
my  own  trials  and  troubles,  I  remembered  how  many  my 
mother  had,  and  how  patiently  she  bore  them.  O  how  sor- 
ry I  felt  that  I  hadn't  been  more  dutiful  and  loving  to  her. 
So  I  tried  to  do  as  she  used  to,  for  I  remembered  her  ac- 


190  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

tions  better  than  her  words.  And  I've  tried  to  keep  them 
always  before  me.  But  if  I  should  live  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  I  never  should  come  to  be  what  my  mother  was." 

Susan  looked  at  the  poor  wreck  upon  the  bed,  and 
thanked  God  in  her  heart  that  she  too  had  been  reared  by 
a  good  mother,  and  was  now  privileged  to  sustain  and  care 
for  her  in  that  state  of  helplessness. 

Notwithstanding  j\Irs.  Haddock's  unvarying  kindness, 
there  were  some  circumstances  which  rendered  Susan's  situa- 
tion rather  unpleasant  to  one  of  her  temperament.  The  feel- 
ing of  dependence  which  constantly  weighed  upon  her  spirit, 
was  increased  by  a  suspicion  that  the  two  older  daughters 
of  Mrs.  Maddock  were  not  satisfied  with  her  being  there. 
They  were  good-tempered  girls,  and  there  was  never  any- 
thing rude  or  unkind  in  their  deportment  towards  herself. 
But  occasionally  a  hasty  expression  to  her  children  escaped 
them.  And  once,  as  she  was  passing  through  the  entry, 
she  heard  one  of  them  say  to  the  other, 

* '  I  think  we  have  children  enough  of  our  own  without 
keeping  other  people's.  I  should  think  she  might  put 
Mary  out."  Susan  did  not  blame  the  girls.  She  thought 
it  natural  that  they  should  feel  so.  But  it  made  her  very  un- 
happy. She  had  not  thought  of  putting  Mary  out  before, 
and  it  wrung  her  heart.  But  she  felt  the  necessity  of  doing 
something.  If  Mrs.  Lee  were  only  home.  She  knew 
that  she  might  count  upon  help  from  her.  She  was  almost 
sure  that  she  would  have  been  glad  to  take  Mary,  and  that, 
she  could  have  borne,  for  Mary  loved  Mrs.  Lee,  and  would 
no  doubt  have  been  happy  with  her.  But  she  was  gone, 
and  there  was  no  one  who  knew  when  she  would  be  back. 

While  she  was  in  this  state  of  perplexity,  an  opportunity 
offered  for  getting  Mary  a  place,  and  she  embraced  it. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  191 

Not  without  many  secret  tears,  still  in  the  hope  that  the 
separation  would  not  be  long.  The  child  herself  was  at 
first  unwillinsf  to  ffo.  She  could  not  bear  to  leave  her 
mother  and  Johnny,  and  above  all  the  baby.  And  then 
too,  Mrs.  Smith,  with  whom  she  was  going  to  live,  was 
not  a  bit  like  Mrs.  Lee.  She  did  not  look  as  pleasant. 
If  it  was  Mrs.  Lee  she  would  be  willing  to  go  and  live 
always  with  her. 

But  her  mother  talked  long  and  seriously  to  her. 

"  You  are  a  little  girl,  Ma'ry,"  she  said,  "  but  you  are 
old  enougii  to  see  that  I  have  to  work  very  hard  to  get 
clothes  and  food  for  you  all.  Mrs.  Smith  offers  to  feed 
and  clothe  you,  which  Is  very  kind.  And  in  return  you 
are  to  help  take  care  of  her  baby,  just  as  you  do  of  your 
own  little  brother.  Don't  you  see  that  will  be  helping  me 
very  much  ?  " 

When  the  little  girl  understood  that  it  would  be  a  relief 
to  her  mother,  she  became  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  going, 
and  the  next  morning,  after  a  great  many  kisses  all  round, 
and  numerous  hugs  administered  to  the  baby,  she  set  out 
for  Mrs.  Smith's,  with  a  basket  on  her  arm  containing  her 
small  wardrobe,  and  Sarah  Maddock  to  show  her  the  way. 

"  I  don't  half  like  the  looks  of  that  Mrs.  Smith  where 
Mary's  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Maddock  to  her  daughters. 

<«  Nor  I,"  said  Martha. 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  said  Anne.  *'  I  should  be  very  sorry 
if  the  little  thing  wasn't  well  treated,  for  she's  a  good 
child." 

Both  the  girls  felt  some  compunction  for  having  wished 
her  away,  and  they  made  amends  afterwards  by  constant 
kindness  to  Johnny  and  the  baby. 

The  Mrs.  Smith  with  whom  Mary  had  gone  to  live  was 


192  MART  ELMER,    OR 

the  one  before  mentioned,  wife  of  the  man  wlio  had  made 
his  fortwne  in  California,  no  longer  "  Jonathan  Smith  the 
shoemaker,"  but  *'  J.  Pixley  Smith,  the  leather  merchant." 
The  exact  amount  of  Mr.  Smith's  acquisitions  in  California 
was  not  known  ;  but  to  judge  from  the  change  in  his  out- 
ward circumstances  since  his  return,  it  must  have  been 
considerable.  He  was  doing  business  on  a  pretty  large 
scale;  and  Mrs.  Smith,  from  a  small,  unpalnted  house, 
where  she  *'  did  her  own  work,"  was  elevated  to  a  tall,  red 
brick  one,"  with  bright  green  window  blinds,  and  there, 
reigned  over  a  hired  girl  and  also  a  baby  nurse.  An  ex- 
tract from  a  letter  which  she  wrote  about  this  time  to  a 
sister  in  Vermont,  will  give  some  idea  both  of  the  woman 
and  her  mansion  :  — 

*'  It's  bllt  of  brick  painted  red,  three  story  high,  and 
very  tall  chimberly  tops,  and  a  suller  kitchen  in  the  base- 
ment underneath.  The  upper  story  we  haint  furnished 
more  than  to  put  shades  to  the  windows  to  make  a  show 
on  the  outside,  but  the  first  and  second  stories  is  complete. 
I've  got  two  parlors  with  folding  doors  between  'em ;  the 
front  parlor  is  furnished  with  mahogany  chairs  and  a  sofa 
cushined  with  hair  cloth,  and  a  looking  glass  bigg  enough 
to  see  the  whole  of  yourself  in,  and  two  ottermans,  and  a 
splendid  centre-table  with  a  tremenjous  bigg  astorlal  lamp 
in  the  middle  of  it.  The  mantletry  shelf  is  supported  by 
marble  pillows,  and  atop  of  it  stands  three  Jo  Eandals,  the 
middle  one  nearly  a  yard  high,  with  rising  of  a  hundred 
diamond  dependants  hanging  from  it.  Over  the  sofa  hangs 
Mr.  Smitli's  portrait  as  natural  as  life,  and  the  windows 
has  gold  Cornishes  as  much  as  a  foot  wide,  and  musling 
curtings  of  the  most  costliest  description.  And  the  carpets 
I  couldn't  describe  If  I  should  try  forever,  they  being  alike 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  193 

in  both  parlers,  and  all  covered  with  magnificent  flower 
pots  bright  enough  to  dazzle  common  folkses  eyes.  In 
the  back  parler  stands  Henrietta's  piano  ;  we  calculate  to 
have  her  learn  music ;  then  there's  two  tater  tates,  you 
know  what  they  are  I  spose,.and  chairs  and  mantletry-shelf 
like  them  in  the  front  parler,  on  which  stands  a  number  of 
pappy  Mash  ornaments,  that's  very  fashionable  now.  You 
never  saw  any  like  em,  they  being  intirely  new  fashined, 
and  named  after  the  inventor,  old  Mr.  Mash.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  was  the  one  we  used  to  know,  he  was  always 
inventing  something  you  know,  and  a  number  more  things 
of  various  discriptlons.  At  the  lower  end  I  calculate  to 
have  a  family  picture  to  hang ;  it's  nearly  done  now,  and 
Mr.  Boggles  is  a  painting  it ;  you  can  imagine  how  supe- 
rior it  is  when  I  tell  you  that  we  shall  have  to  pay  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  it.  It  represents  the  four  oldest  children  a 
standing  up  in  a  row  ;  Ferdinand  stands  first  wfth  a  book 
in  his  hand,  Henrietta  next  with  a  bokay,  Josephine  next 
a  holding  her  doll,  and  Columbus  last  a  drumming  on  his 
little  drum.  On  one  side  sits  me  a  holding  the  babe,  J. 
PIxley  Junior  in  my  arras.  In  the  folding  doors  stands  one 
of  these  Elizabeth  Ann  chairs,  that's  considered  so  undis- 
pensable  in  every  genteel  j)arler  at  the  present  time,  with 
a  high-pinted  back  and  cushined  with  red  velvet,  and  very 
uneasy  if  a  body  ever  wanted  to  set  dow^n  in  em,  but  they 
don't.  We  calculate  to  have  the  house  heated  by  a  furniss 
in  the  basement  next  fall,  with  legislators  in  the  floor  to  let 
the  heat  go  up  stairs  you  know.  Stoves  ain't  considered 
genteel  any  longer  only  in  kitchings.  I  tell  you  Ime  as 
good  as  anybody  now.  I've  had  a  number  of  calls  from 
ladies  that  never  come  near  me  before ;  they  seem  to  jest 
found  out  we  live  in  town.  Californy  gold  dust  aint  like 
17 


194  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

other  dust ;  it  seems  to  open  some  folkses  eyes  all  of  a  sud- 
ding,  instid  of  blinding  em.  I  keep  a  bigg  girl  that  does 
the  heft  of  my  work,  and  have  to  pay  her  a  dollar  a  week ; 
and  besides  her  I've  got  a  small  one  to  take  care  of  J.  Pix- 
ley,  and  I  get  a  good  deal  out  of  her  and  it's  all  clear  gain, 
for  all  I  pay  her  is  her  clothing  and  vittals,  and  the  cloth- 
ing aint  much,  as  I  shall  make  her  wear  the  girls'  old 
things ;  the  food  is  something,  for  such  children  eat  aw- 
fully, but  1  watch  her  pretty  close  ;  she's  only  seven  year 
old  but  I  never  saw  a  child  of  that  age  so  handy  with  a 
babe.  A  good  deal  of  the  furniture  I've  discribed,  husband 
bought  to  a  vandue  in  New  York,  very  cheap  indeed,  but 
don't  you  never  breathe  a  sillyble  about  it  to  no  living  crea- 
ture, but  come  as  soon  as  convenient  and  see  how  we  look 
in  our  new  residence."  f 

When  little  Mary  arrived  at  Mrs.  Smith's,  Sarah  took 
her  to  the  basement  door  and  then  left  her.  She  knocked 
and  was  told  to  come  in.  There  was  no  one  in  the  kitchen 
excepting  the  hired  girl,  who  was  washing  up  the  breakfast 
things.  She  was  an  odd  looking  girl,  almost  as  dark  as  a 
squaw,  with  a  flat  nose  and  a  long  chin.  She  was  cross- 
ej^ed  too,  and  her  stiff  black  hair  was  cropped  close  to  her 
head.  Mary  was  almost  frightened  when  she  first  looked 
at  her.  But  when  she  spoke  in  a  pleasant  voice  and  asked 
if  "  this  was  the  little  girl  that  was  to  live  there,"  her  fears 
subsided,  and  she  answered  in  tlie  affirmative. 

"  Well  then,  take  off  your  things  and  I'll  put  them  up 
stairs  ;  you'll  sleep  with  me." 

Mary  surrendered  her  bonnet  and  cape,  as  well  as  her 
basket  to  the  queer-looking  girl,  who  patted  her  head  and 
said,  "  How  nice  your  hair  curls  !    is  it  natural?" 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  195 

<*  Natural?"  said  the  little  girl  inquiringly. 

*'  I  mean  do  you  roll  it  up  in  papers,  or  does  it  curl 
itself?  " 

*'  O,  it  curls  itself.  I  didn't  know  what  you  meant  at 
first." 

**  Well,  that's  beautiful.  Now  I  suppose  you  must  go 
up  stairs  to  IMrs.  Smith's  room.  No  need  of  my  going 
with  you ;  right  up  this  stairs  and  then  along  the  hall,  and 
into  the  room  where  you  hear  a  dreadful  hullabaloo." 

These  directions  enabled  Mary  to  find  the  room  without 
difficulty.  She  tapped  at  the  door,  but  was  not  heard. 
So  she  opened  it  and  went  in.  Such  was  the  commotion 
inside  that  her  entrance  was  unnoticed.  The  two  girls 
were  disputing,  furiously  about  Josephine's  sun-bonnet, 
which  she  declared  Henrietta  had  hidden.  Columbus,  a 
boy  about  three  years  old,  was  stamping  about  in  an  old 
pair  of  his  father's  boots,  and  Mrs,  Smith,  baby  in  arms, 
was  standing  at  the  window,  knocking  and  screaming  at 
Ferdinand,  the  eldest  hope,  who  was  loitering  in  the  street, 
instead  of  going  to  school. 

<'  You  do  know  where  it  is,  and  you  know  you  do,"  said 
Josephine. 

*'  I  don't  neither,  and  you  know  I  don't." 

*'  You  lie,  and  you  know  you  lie." 

"  I  don't  lie,  you  lie  yourself.  Say  ma  !  shan't  she  give 
mc  up  my  sun-bonnet?  I  want  to  go  to  school." 
'  *' I  don't  care  whether  she  does  or  not,"  shouted  Mrs. 
Smith  turning  quickly  round.  ''  I'm  half  crazy  with  this 
everlasting  racket ;  go  to  school,  sun-bonnet  or  no  sun- 
bonnet."  And  she  gave  them  each  a  hearty  box  on  the 
ear  and  pushed  them  out  of  the  door,  while  they  retaliated 
by  calling  her  a  **  mean  old  thing,"  "  old  cross-patch,"  &c. 


196  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

As  ]\Irs.  Smith  opened  the  door  to  eject  the  gh*ls,  she 
perceived  little  Mary,  who  stood  trembling  behind  it. 

"  O  you've  come,  have  you?  well,  I'll  attend  to  yoti 
soon."  She  then  seized  Columbus  and  shook  him  violently 
with  the  hand  she  had  at  liberty. 

*'  What  do  you  mean,  you  little  scamp,  clattering  round 
in  tliem  boots  !  get  out  of  'em  quicker ;  "  and  she  lifted 
him  up  by  the  arm  so  that  the  boots  fell  off.  The  boy 
bawled  lustily.  At  this  moment  Mr.  Smith  entered  the 
room,  evidently  much  excited. 

*'  xVt  it  again  hey  ?  "  said  he.  '*  You're  always  abusing 
that  boy.  Lummy,  my  son,  come  with  pa,"  taking  hold  of 
his  arm. 

Mrs.  Smith  did  not  relax  her  gripe  on  the  other  arm. 
The  boy  w^as  a  constant  bone  of  contention  between  his 
parents. 

**  I  wish,"  she  said,  "you  wouldn't  always  interfere 
when  I'm  a  trying  to  correct  him,  Mr.  Smith." 

*'  And  I  wish  you'd  be  good  enough  to  let  go  of  his  arm, 
Mrs.  Smith." 

As  the  mother  labored  under  a  disadvantage  on  account 
of  one  arm  being  occupied  with  J.  Pixley,  Junior,  she  was 
in  the  end  compelled  to  yield,  and  the  affectionate  father 
led  his  son  off  in  triumph  to  the  "  leather  store." 

Poor  little  Marj^  to  whom  such  scenes  w^ere  new,  was 
nearly  frightened  out  of  her  wats  at  it,  and  felt  quite  re- 
lieved to  find  herself  alone  with  Mrs.  Smith  and  the  baby. 
Mrs.  Smith  was  a  tall,  poking  woman,  with  a  sallow  com- 
plexion, and  a  long,  sharp  nose.  She  turned  to  Mary  as 
soon  as  the  coast  was  cleared,  and  ordered  her  to  go  to  the 
kitchen  and  tell  Jerusha  to  send  her  a  basin  of  water,  right 
from  the  pump  to  wash  the  hale.     Mary  obeyed,  and  after 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  197 

sending  her  to   fetch  half    a  dozen   more    things,     Mrs. 
Smith  was  ready  to  begin  the  ablution  of  J.  PIxley. 

He  was  a  very  fiit  baby,  with  cheeks  hanging  down  on 
his  shoulders,  and  a  pointed  head,  crowned  on  the  summit 
with  a  tuft  of  stiff,  black  hair  about  an  inch  long,  which 
stuck  up  straight  in  spite  of  all  his  mother's  efforts  with 
comb  and  brush,  to  make  it  lie  down.  Little  Mary's  first 
movement  was  to  run  up  and  stand  by  Mrs.  Smith,  as  she 
always  did  by  her  mother  when  she  washed  their  baby. 
,  "  What  makes  him  cry  so?"  she  asked.  '*  Our  baby 
never  does  when  he's  washed." 

**  Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  your  ma  takes  the  chill 
off  the  water.  Some  folks  don't  know  any  better,  but  it's 
no  way.  I  always  wash  my  children  in  the  coldest  water 
I  can  get,  and  in  the  summer  I  put  a  chunk  of  ice  in  it." 

Mary  no  longer  w^ondered  that  J.  PIxley  cried,  nor  that 
his  skin  was  so  red.  She  noticed  when  his  mother  put  on 
his  clothes,  that  she  pinned  his  waist  bands  as  tight  as  she 
could  possibly  draw  them,  and  she  concluded  that  this  was 
done  to  push  up  the  flesh  and  make  his  cheeks  fat. 

"  How  funny  his  hair  looks,"  remarked  the  child  in  the 
simplicity  of  her  heart,  *«  It  doesn't  curl  round  like  our 
baby's,  his  is  real  pretty;  it  goes  so;"  and  she  described 
several  half  circles  with  her  finger  on  J.  PIxley 's  head. 
Mrs.  Smith  never  forgave  her  this  speech.  She  glanced 
spitefully  at  the  little  girl's  head,  covered  with  those  short 
golden  rings  which  are  so  beautiful  in  childhood,  and. which 
art  cannot  imitate,  thinking  as  she  did  so,  of  the  stiff,  mud- 
colored  locks  of  her  own  children,  and  after  a  moment  she 
said, 

*'  So  you  think  curly  hair's  mighty  pretty  ?     Well  I  don't 
agree  with  you.     I'm  glad  he  hasn't  got  curly  hair,  nor 
17* 


198  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

any  of  the  other  children.  It  looks  so  niggery.  If  your 
ma  expects  me  to  fuss  with  yours  as  she  does,  and  keep 
it  quirled  up  In  that  ridiculous  way,  she's  mistaken." 

'*  My  mother  doesn't  fuss  with  it.  She  only  combs  it 
out  in  the  morning  when  I  get  up,"  said  Mary,  in  some 
alarm,  fearing  that  she  had  done  something  wrong. 

'*  You  talk  too  much  child,  "  said   Mrs.  Smith  sharply. 

When  she  had  finished  J.  Pixley's  toilet,  she  laid  him 
in  the  cradle  still  screaming,  and  told  her  to  rock  him  to 
sleep. 

* «  And  If  he  won't  go  to  sleep  so  —  take  him  up  and 
walk  with  him  till  he  does  ;  do  you  hear  ?  " 

<'  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Mary. 

*'  And  then  sit  down  on  that  stool  by  the  cradle  and 
sew  on  this  till  he  wakes  up.  You  can  sew  some,  can't 
you?  you're  old  enough  anyhow." 

Mary  answered  that  she  could  sew  a  little  on  coarse 
things,  and  she  took  from  Mrs.  Smith's  hand  a  towel  begun 
to  be  hemmed. 

*' And  as  soon  as  he  wakes,  let  me  know;  do  you 
hear?" 

**  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  child,  and  then  Mrs.  Smith 
went  into  the  kitchen. 

Mary  rocked  the  cradle,  singing  the  while  a  childish 
tune.  There  was  something  in  her  voice  and  manner 
soothing  to  the  poor  baby  after  his  mother's  rough  hand- 
ling, and  he  soon  ceased  crying  and  fell  asleep  without 
obliging  Mary  to  take  him  up.  And  then  the  little  nurse 
began  lier  sewing.  She  felt  very  sorrowful,  as  she  sat  on 
the  little  stool  in  that  strange,  disorderly  room,  and  thought 
of  the  angry  words  she  had  heard,  and  the  angry  faces  she 
had  seen  there,  and  then  of  her  own  home  where  all  was  so 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  199 

different.  It  seemed  as  though  she  had  been  a  long,  long 
time  awav,  and  she  could  not  prevent  a  few  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks.  But  she  wiped  them  hastily  off  with  the 
rough  towel  she  was  hemming,  and  said  to  herself,  **I 
mustn't  do  so.  I  must  try  to  be  good  and  contented,  and 
help  my  mother  as  much  I  can." 

Poor  little  one  !  She  had  entered  upon  her  first  real 
trials.  But  we  must  reserve  the  account  of  them  for 
another  chapter. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


T  this  moment  the  little  girl  was  startled  by  a 
strange  noise  under  Mrs.  Smith's  bed,  and  pres- 
ently a  large  Newfoundland  dog  emerged, 
stretched,  shook  himself,  and  looked  round.  As 
soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  strange  child  sitting  by  the 
cradle,  he  showed  his  teeth,  and  uttered  a  low  growl. 
Poor  Mary  w^as  dreadfully  terrified.  What  should  she 
do?  If  she  were  to  stir  or  cry  out,  he  might  spring  at 
her  and  tear  her  to  pieces  before  any  one  could  come  to 
her  rescue.  Therefore  she  bethought  herself  to  try  coax- 
ing. She  remembered  to  have  seen  her  father  once  con- 
ciliate a  ferocious  dog  in  this  manner,  when  she  was  out 
with  him  ;  and  so,  frightened  as  she  was,  she  ventured  to 
speak  to  him. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  poor  old  fellow." 

The  dog  relaxed  his  countenance  somewhat,  and  came  a 


2U0  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

few '  steps  nearer.  She  spoke  again,  in  a  low,  sweet 
voice. 

*'  Doggy,  good  cloggy,  you  won't  bite  a  poor  little  girl, 
will  you?" 

The  dog  advanced  close  to  her  side.  She  took  courage 
and  patted  his  back,  though  her  hand  trembled  a  little, 
still  talking  in  the  same  pleasant  way,  and  very  soon  the 
creature  sat  down  and  laid  his  head  caressingly  on  her  lap. 
Little  !Mary  was  greatly  relieved,  and  resumed  her  sewing. 
This  animal  had  a  great  antipathy  to  children  past  the  age 
of  inftmcy  ;  caused,  undoubtedly,  by  his  having  been  con- 
stantly teased  and  worried  by  the  little  Smiths.  He  was 
the  terror  of  all  the  urchins  in  the  neighborhood,  who 
would  scamper  off  whenever  they  saw  him.  He  was  not 
accustomed  to  kind  words,  and  they  had  a  magical  effect 
upon  him,  when  uttered  by  Mary's  sweet,  child-like  voice. 
So  from  this  time.  Bounce  and  the  little  girl  were  the  best 
of  friends. 

When  Mrs.  Smith  came  in  shortly  after,  she  was  ex- 
ceedingly surprised  at  the  phenomenon  which  met  her  eyes. 
After  her  astonishment  had  in  a  measure  subsided,  she  in- 
quired "  how  that  dog  came  there."  Mary  answered  that 
he  came  from  under  the  bed. 

'*  Well,  how  came  he  to  be  so  friendly  with  you?" 

"  I  don't  know,  indeed,"  said  Mary,  "  only  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  bite  me,  so  I  said,  '  poor  fellow,'  and 
talked  to  him,  and  after  awhile  he  came  up  to  me  very 
good." 

"So  you've  been  coaxing  him,  hey  !  Well,  I'll  let  you 
know  I  didn't  get  you  here  to  play  with  the  dog ;  here 
Bounce,  get  out,  you  nasty  squadruped  ;  "  and  she  assisted 
him  with  hej-  foot  to  obey  the  command. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  201 

The  commotion  awaked  the  baby,  whereupon  his 
mother  took  him  up,  and  then  ordered  Mary  to  *'  fly 
round  and  put  the  room  to  rights."  The  child  was  very 
.  expert  at  "  putting  to  rights,"  for  she  had  been  taught  to 
assist  her  mother  in  this  way,  but  she  never  before  had 
quite  80  unpromising  a  field  to  work  upon. 

"  How  can  I  ever  get  it  to  rights?"  thought  she ;  "it 
is  so  dreadfully  to  wrongs."  But  what  with  her  own  ideas 
of  propriety,  and  Mrs.  Smith's  instructions  where  to  place 
this,  and  how  to  fix  that,  she  did  at  length  succeed  in  get- 
ting the  room  Into  a  state  something  like  order ;  a  nearer 
approach  to  It  in  fact,  than  had  been  achieved  In  a  long 
time. 

"  Hereafter,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  "  I  shall  expect  you  to 
do  this  every  morning  without  being  told ;  d'ye  hear  ?  " 

Mary  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  then  her  mis- 
tress told  her  to  hing  on  her  sewing,  as  she  wanted  to  see 
what  sort  of  work  she  made  of  it.  Mary  brought  it  to 
her,  and  she  at  once  pronounced  it  *'  distress-ed,"  the 
stitches,  she  said,  were  a  foot  long  —  she  wondered  that  a 
great  girl  like  her  couldn't  sew  better,  and  ordered  her  to 
take  more  pains  in  future.  Mary  said  "  she  could  sew 
a  good  deal  better  when  she  had  a  thimble,  but  she  had 
not  brouo'ht  hers." 

"  So  you  haint  fetcht  no  thimble,  hey?  Well,  it's  curi- 
ous your  ma  didn't  think  of  it.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  you 
hadn't  any." 

"  O,  yes  ma'am,  I've  got  a  nice  silver  one,  that  father 
gave  me  on  my  last  birthday  before  he  went  away." 

*'  Silver  thimble  for  a  young  one  like  you  that's  all  the 
while  a  growing,  a  bright  idee,  I  must  say,  for  folks  in 
your  situation." 


202  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

**But  mother  said  when  It's  outgrown  I  can  give  it  to 
some  little  girl  that's  littler  yet  than  I.  So  I  mean  to  give 
it  to  Hannah  Fenno,  she's  only  four,  and  when  she  gets 
too  big  for  it,  she  can  give  it  to  little  Ellen,  and  after 
Ellen,  little  Maria,  that's  a  baby  now  can  have  it,  and  so 
you  see  it  never'll  be  lost." 

*«  Well,  I  declare  !  I  did  not  know  there  was  anybody 
so  green  in  creation  !  give  away  a  silver  thimble,  when 
you  can't  get  vittals  to  eat,  nor  clothing  to  cover  your 
surfisses.  But  it's  a  mystery  to  me  that  your  ma  didn't 
have  you  fetch  it  along." 

*'  I  suppose  she  didn't  think  you'd  want  me  to  sew." 

*«  Didn't,  hey?  I  wonder  what  she  calcilated  to  have 
you  do  all  the  time  the  babe's  asleep  ;  hold  your  hands  and 
play  lady?" 

To  this  question  the  child  made  no  reply,  but  she  ven- 
tured to  ask  if  she  might  go  home  and  get  her  thimble. 

**  There  !  jest  as  I  knew  'twould  be,  ready  to  jump  at 
any  excuse  to  trot  home.  But  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mary 
Elmer,  once  for  all  I  tell  you,  and  do  you  listen  to  me 
and  remcQiber  what  I  say.  I  aint  a  going  to  have  no  run- 
ning back  and  forth  every  day  from  our  house  to  yourn, 
d'ye  hear?" 

**  O,  no,  not  every  day,  of  course ;  but  only  once  in  a 
while  to  see  the  baby,  you  know,"  said  the  little  girl  tim- 
idly. 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Smith,  snappishly.  **  You 
couldn't  exist  I  s'pose,  without  seeing  that  elegant  curly- 
headed  cherubim  once  in  a  while.  And  then  'twould  be 
so  interesting  to  me  to  have  you  come  back  and  ding-dong 
it  into  my  ears  the  rest  of  the  time.  A  wonderful  help 
you'd  be  to  me  in  such  a  case.  No,  you  aint  to  go  home 
at  all,  I  give  you  to  understand.     D'ye  hear?  " 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  203 

Mary  would  have  answered,  but  something  came  up  in 
her  throat  and  prevented  her.  She  tried  to  choke  it 
down,  in  vain,  and  after  a  moment  she  burst  into  tears. 

*«You  great  cry-baby,"  said  Mrs.  Smith;  ''I've  a 
great  mind  to  send  you  home  and  let  you  all  starve  to- 
gether, or  go  to  the  poor-house." 

These  words  alarmed  the  child,  and  she  said  hurriedly, 
*'  O,  don't  send  me  home,  Mrs.  Smith,  mother  cannot 
provide  for  us  all.  I'll  try  to  be  good,  I  won't  cry  any 
more." 

Mrs.  Smith  was  graciously  pleased  to  be  mollified  at 
these  promises,  and  after  giving  Mary  a  lecture  touching 
her  future  conduct,  dwelling  at  large  on  the  poor-house 
and  starvation  in  case  of  any  act  of  disobedience,  and  her 
own  kindness  in  being  willing  to  save  her  from  such  a 
fate,  she  brought  out  Josephine's  thimble  for  her  to  use 
until  she  could  have  an  opportunity  to  send  for  her  own. 
She  soon  after  told  her  to  take  the'*  babe"  into  the 
kitchen  for  his  dinner.  Mary  obeyed,  and  Mrs.  Smith 
followed. 

In  the  kitchen  Mrs.  Smith  passed  the  greater  portion 
of  her  time.  She  was  unaccustomed  to  servants,  and 
wholly  Ignorant  of  the  proper  manner  of  treating  them. 
She  had  not  the  slightest  confidence  in  Jerusha.  Not  be- 
cause she  had  any  reason  to  doubt  the  girl's  honesty,  but 
because  she  regarded  all  *'  hired  girls"  as  the  natural  ene-  ' 
mies  of  their  employers,  and  ready  to  take  advantage  of 
every  opportunity  to  defraud  them.  She  therefore  kept 
up  a  system  of  petty  espionage  over  all  Jerusha's  move- 
ments, both  to  see  that  she  did  not  purloin  or  waste  any- 
thing, and  to  be  sure  that  she  was  constantly  busy,  and 
not  trying  to  slight  or  «'  shirk  off"  her  work. 


204  MAEY  ELMER,    OR 

Therefore,  whether  she  had  anythnig  to  do  In  the 
kitchen  or  not,  she  was  generally  there ;  for  the  most  part 
gossiping  with  Jerusha,  and  asking  her  all  sorts  of  ques- 
tions about  ftimilies  where  she  had  lived,  which  the  girl, 
like  many  others  when  encouraged,  was  ready  enough  to 
answer. 

Occasionally,  however,  Mrs.  Smith  was  visited  with  an 
attack  of  reserve.  A  sudden  sense  of  her  own  greatness 
and  importance  as  mistress  of  the  house,  came  over  her, 
and  she  determined  to  let  Jerusha  "  know  her  place." 
At  such  times  her  bearing  towards  her  "  drumstic,"  as  she 
called  her,  was  dignijied  in  the  extreme.  She  moved 
about  with  a  queenly  air,  and  although  she  continued  her 
visits  to  the  kitchen  as  usmil,  she  always  brought  with  her 
'*Thaddeus  of  Warsaw"  (the  only  book  in  the  house), 
and  pretended  to  read  while  she  kept  a  good  look-out 
upon  Jerusha.  These  attacks  occurred  just  after  she  had 
received  a  call  or  an  invitation  from  some  one  whom  she 
considered  genteel,  or  after  a  spat  with  Jerusha,  which  was 
no  rare  occurrence.  Jerusha,  who  was  a  shrewd  girl,  and 
knew  the  difference  between  a  *' lady  "and  **  no  lady," 
was  both  provoked  and  amused  at  these  "  genteel  fits,"  as 
she  called  them. 

But  let  us  not  forget  J.  Pixley's  dinner.  This  consisted 
of  a  large  quantity  of  mashed  potato  v/ell  buttered,  tiie 
soft  part  of  a  huge  piece  of  apple-pie,  and  a  bowl  of 
milk.  Mary  thought  it  a  "  funny"  dinner  for  a  baby  of 
ten  months  not  yet  weaned,  but  she  did  not  dare  to  say 
so. 

While  she  was  feeding  him  the  children  came  in  from 
school,  and  a  terrible  uproar  ensued.  The  girls  made 
themselves  merry  for  a  while   in  commenting  upon    little 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  2C5 

Mary's  appearance ;  particularly  her  curly  golden  hair, 
which  they  considered  vastly  inferior  to  their  own  mud- 
colored  pigtails,  and  then  fell  to  quarrelling  as  usual, 
while  Ferdinand  amused,  himself  by  jogging  her  elbow,  to 
make  her  spill  the  baby's  food.  The  poor  child  was 
frightened  at  the  conduct  of  the  great  rude  boy,  and  was 
just  on  the  point  of  crying  again,  when  the  entrance  of 
Bounce  diverted  the  young  gentleman's  attention  from  her. 
The  dog  had  barely  time  to  run  up  and  greet  his  new 
friend  with  a  wag  of  his  tail,  when  the  same  tail  was 
seized  by  Ferdinand,  who  began  to  drag  him  about  the 
room  by  It.  Bounce  never  would  bite  lils  master's  chil- 
dren, but  he  often  barked  and  snarled  terribly  under  their 
treatment.  At  this  Indignity  he  sent  forth  a  succession  of 
yells  which  alarmed  Mary,  although  she  did  not  blame 
him  at  all.  The  yelling  of  the  dog,  the  shouts  of  Ferdi- 
nand, and  the  boisterous  quarrelling  of  the  two  girls,  cre- 
ated a  concert  such  as  the  quiet  little  creature  had  never 
heard  before. 

*'  Get  out  o'  the  house  every  live  soul  of  you,"  screamed 
Mrs.  Smith.  "  I  can't  stand  this  racket,  and  I  won't 
stand  It."  Then  seeing  that  the  children  did  not  start, 
she  seized  a  broom  exclaiming,  "  If  you  won't  go  I'll 
make  you  go,"  and  drove  them  forth  Into  the  back  yard, 
with  orders  to  stay  there  till  dinner  was  ready. 

And  then  Jerusha  proceeded  to  set  the  table.  They 
ate  In  the  kitchen.  The  dining-room  was  only  used  when 
they  had  company.  While  Mary  was  yet  feeding  the 
baby,  Mr.  Smith  returned  from. his  store  drao-ajno:  alonjx 
Columbus,  who  was  roaring  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

*' If  ever  I   take   this   boy  to   the  store  again  "  —  thus 
18   . 


206  MART  ELMER,    OR 

far  had  Mr.   Smith  proceeded,  when  Mrs.  Smith  broke 
in. 

"  I  wonder  what's  the  reason  you're  forever  tormenting 
that  child.  Lummy,  my  son,  what's  pa  been  doing  to 
you?" 

'«  He's  been  'hipping  me,"  bhibbered  the  cherub. 

*' Whipping  you,  hey?  Mr.  Smith,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  business  you  have  to  whip  this  boy  ?  " 

< '  I  whipped  him  because  he  deserved  it ;  he's  done 
more  mischief  at  the  store  this  morning  than  his  neck's 
worth,  confound  him  !  " 

"  IMischief,  hey  !  that's  a  likely  story  !  come  here  to  ma, 
Lummy,  darling  !  " 

Columbus  obeyed,  and  took  refuge  in  his  mother's  lap  ; 
and  then  turning  to  his  father,  said  with  an  air  of  great 
satisfaction, 

"  E  ce,  ya  ya,  I  don't  tare  for  you." 

Dinner  was  now  ready,  and  little  INIary  was  not  sorry 
when  Mrs.  Smith  ?ent  her  back  in  the  bed-room  with  the 
baby,  to  wait  until  they  were  through.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  very  hungry,  but  she  thought  she  would 
rather  go  without  her  dinner  altogether,  than  to  sit  down 
with  the  children,  to  say  nothing  of  their  parents.  When 
at  last  she  was  called  out  to  dinner,  there  was  no  one  there 
beside  Mrs.  Smith,  Jerusha,  and.  Columbus,  who  was  still 
at  the  table,  being  always  allowed  to  sit  and  stuff  himself 
as  long  as  he  chose.  ^Irs.  Smith  took  the  baby,  and  mo- 
tioned Mary  to  —  not  a  seat,  but  a  stand  by  a  very  dirty 
plate  which  one  of  the  children  had  used.  Jerusha,  who 
had  dined  (she  always  ate  with  tlie  family  exccptin-:!:  wlicn 
they  had  company),  offered  to  wait  upon  the  little  girl, 
but  Mrs.  Smith  declined,  saying  she  would  attend  to  her 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  '  207 

herself.  She  then  pat  a  large  potato  on  her  plate,  cut  it 
up  in  chunks,  and  sprinkled  salt  over  it.  To  this  she 
added  a  very  small  piece  of  meat,  and  then  told  Jeruslia 
to  take  off  the  dishes.  In  obeying  this  order,  the  girl,  as 
she  took  up  the  bread  plate  to  take  it  away,  offered  it  to " 
Mary.      Mrs.  Smith  pushed  it    quickly  from  her,  saying, 

"  She  don't  need  bread  v^^ith  her  potato." 

Mary  did  want  a  piece  of  bread,  but  she  dared  not  to 
say  so.  There  was  a  small  piece  of  pie  left  on  Jerusha's 
plate.  To  tell  the  truth  she  had  reserved  it  on  purpose 
for  little  Mary.  She  handed  the  plate  to  her,  saying  as 
she  did  so,  "Would  you  like  this  bit  of  pie?  " 

Mary  thanked  her,  but  before  she  had  time  to  take  it 
Mrs  S.  said  with  much  excitement,  — 

*'  Columbus  may  want  that." 

*'  He's  got  more  on  his  plate  now  than  he  can  manage, 
and  he's  as  full  as  a  tick  already,"  said  Jerusha.  "  And 
besides  it's  a  piece  I  saved  a  purpose  for  her,"  and  she 
slipped  it  oif  on  Mary's  plate. 

*' Jerusha!"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  turning  very  red  with 
anger.  "  When  I  said  I'd  attend  to  her  myself,  I  meant 
so.  And  I  wish  you'd  mind  your  own  business,  and  not 
go  to  loading  down  her  plate  and  stuffing  her  with  vittals 
you  haint  any  right  to." 

«'I  didn't  mean  to  stuff  her,"  replied  Jerusha,  **  I 
thought  there  was  no  harm  in  giving  her  that  little  piece  of 
pie." 

«'  Don't  you  know  that  such  children  will  always  make 
themselves  sick  overloading  if  their  food  aint  portioned 
out  to  'em.  It  was  for  her  good,  of  course,  that  I  didn't 
want  she  should  have  the  pie." 

*'  And    for    Columbus's  good  too,    I    s'pose    that   you 


208  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

wanted  he  should  have  it,  I  don't  know  why  'taint  as  bad 
for  him  to  overload  as  for  Mary." 

As  soon  as  Jerusha  liad  delivered  this  speech,  she  began 
to  sing,  the  way  in  which  she  usually  terminated  the  fre- 
quent spats  between  herself  and  Mrs.  Smith,  for  whom 
she  had  not  the  smallest  respect. 

After  this  scene,  our  little  Mary  was  too  much  frightened 
to  eat  the  pie,  and  taking  the  baby  returned  to  the  bed- 
room, (Mrs.  S.  had  not  yet  learned  quite  enough  of  gen- 
tility to  call  it  "  the  nursery,")  Mrs.  Smith  banged  after 
her,  enraged  at  not  being  able  to  have  the  last  word  with 
Jerusha.  On  reaching  that  apartment  she  threw  herself 
down  in  the  rocking-chair,  rocked  furiously  for  a  few 
minutes,  then  jumped  up,  took  down  *'  Thaddeus  of 
Warsaw,"  from  a  shelf  in  the  closet,  and  banged  back  into 
the  kitchen. 

Durins:  i\^Q  afternoon  Mary  had  only  occasional  glimpses 
of  her,  when  she  came  and  poked  her  head  in  at  the  door  to 
see  how  matters  stood  there,  to  administer  a  warning  or 
threatening  word  to  the  poor  little  nurse,  and  then  hastened 
back  to  her  favorite  post.  It  was  a  doleful  afternoon  to 
the  child.  The  baby  fretted  almost  constantly.  Mary 
thouglit  his  overloading  had  something  to  do  with  it.  It 
rained  and  therefore  he  could  not  be  taken  out  in  his  little 
wagon.  She  tasked  all  her  powers  to  amuse  him.  She 
talked  to  him,  sang  to  him,  took  him  to  the  window  and 
tried  to  interest  him  in  the  sights  outside.  But  the  only 
way  that  she  could  quiet  him  at  all,  was  by  carrying  him 
up  and  down  the  room. 

O  how  her  poor  little  arms  ached  !  for  he  was  a  very 
fat,  heavy  child.  Once  they  gave  out  entirely,  and  she  was 
compelled  to  drop  him  into  the  cradle  to  rest  them.     But 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  209 

he  screamed  so  tremendously  that  it  brought  his  mother 
from  the  kitchen,  and  she  gave  Mary  a  terrible  scolding 
for  "  letting  him  lie  there  and  cry."  Mary  said  she  had 
only  laid  him  down  a  little  while  to  rest  her  arms. 

"  Time  enough  for  that  when  he's  asleep,"  said  the  affec- 
tionate mother,  "  don't  you  let  me  catch  you  doing  so 
again." 

So  Mary  took  him  up  and  walked  with  him  ;  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  until  she  felt  as  though  her  ankles 
would  break  and  her  arms  drop  off.  At  last  it  occurred 
to  her  how  very  tightly  his  mother  had  pinned  his  clothes 
in  the  morning,  and  slie  thought  that  after  such  a  dinner  as 
he  had  eaten  they  must  be  very  uncomfortable.  She  ven- 
tured to  examine.  They  were  very  tight  indeed,  she  could 
hardly  get  her  finger  under  them.  She  knew  he  must  be 
sufferins:  on  that  account,  and  after  some  hesitation  she  de- 
termined  to  loosen  them  if  possible.  This  was  no  light 
task  for  her,  but  she  accomplished  it  after  a  time.  Slie 
carefully  extracted  the  pins.  But  when  she  had  got  them 
all  out,  and  begun  to  put  them  in  again,  her  fingers 
trembled  a  little,  she  was  so  fearful  of  pricking  the  baby. 

"  O  baby,"  she  said,  *'  why  doesn't  your  mother  have 
strings  on  your  clothes,  as  my  mother  does  on  little 
Georgey's?    I'm  so  afraid  I  shall  hurt  you." 

But  she  did  not  hurt  him.  He  was  much  more  quiet 
•while  she  was  undoing  and  doing  him  Over,  and  when  she 
had  finished,  his  cries  ceased  entirely.  Marj  had  really 
done  this  nice  little  piece  of  work  as  well  as  any  grown 
person  could,  and  the  child  was  completely  relieved.  lie 
stretched  his  hmbs  out  to  their  full  extent,  and  seemed  de- 
lighted to  be  able  to  do  so.  Indeed,  Mary  fimcied  that  he 
looked  up  gratefully  in  her  face,  and  she  felt  an  interest  in 
18* 


210  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

the  homely  little  thing,  that  she  had  not  felt  before.  She 
kissed  him,  and  he  tried  to  return  the  caress,  then  laying 
his  cheek  against  hers  fell  asleep  in  a  few  moments. 

*'  Dear  baby,"  said  Mary  as  she  laid  him  in  his  cradle, 
**  how  glad  you  are  to  be  made  comfortable  ;  perhaps  you 
will  get  to  love  me  though  your  mother  doesn't,  but  O 
how  tired  I  am  !  "  And  thro  win  2:  herself  on  the  floor  at  full 
length,  she  stretched  out  her  arms  and  enjoyed  for  a  few 
minutes  the  luxury  of  resting. 

"  I  must  be  careful  not  to  rest  too  lono^,"  she  thouofht, 
*'  or  Mrs.  Smith  will  come  and  be  angry  with  me.  I'll 
be  up  directly  and  go  to  my  sewing.''  But  "  directly  "  she 
began  to  think  it  was  very  pleasant  to  lie  so,  and  then  she 
had  a  confused  idea  of  not  carina^  whether  Mrs.  Smith  came 
in  or  not,  and  then  —  she  was  asleep. 

Fortunately  Mrs.  Smith  did  not  come  in  during  her  nap, 
which  was  soon  cut  short  by  a  great  noise  under  the 
window.  It  was  the  young  Smiths  returning  from  school. 
She  was  at  first  alarmed  to  find  that  she  had  been  asleep, 
but  was  reassured  on  seeing  the  baby  just  as  she  left  him, 
and  sitting  down  on  her  little  stool  began  to  sew.  She 
had  just  finished  one  end  of  the  towel  when  the  baby  waked, 
and  she  took  him  into  the  kitchen  for  his  supper,  as  Mrs. 
Smith  had  directed.     The  family  were  taking  tea. 

*'  I  was  in  hopes  that  young  one  wouldn't  wake  till  we 
got  through,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  as  she  began  to  prepare 
his  supper,  for  which  he  was  clamoring  loudl3%  This  meal 
fully  equalled  his  dinner  in  quantity,  although  it  differed  in 
quality  ;  being  a  bowl  of  crackers  and  milk,  accompanied 
by  a  large  ginger-cake.  She  placed  them  on  a  stand  near 
tlie  tea-table,  where  she  could  keep  an  eye  upon  Mary, 
and  see  that  she  did  not  *'  eat  it  half  up  herself,"  and  then 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  211 

the  little  girl  sat  down,  and  began  the  process  of  stuffing 
the  infant  Pixley. 

While  Mrs.  Smith  was  looking  round  to  w^atch  Mary, 
Columbus,  w^ho  sat  in  a  high  chair  near  her,  reached  out 
to  help  himself  to  something,  and  in  so  doing  turned  over 
her  tea-cup%  She  gave  him  a  ringing  box  on  the  ear, 
called  him  a  "  tormented  ^?/Z:e,"  and  was  in  the  act  of  put- 
ting him  down  from  the  table,  when  his  father  interposed, 
caught  him  up,  chair  and  all,  carried  him  round  and  seated 
him  next  to  himself,  saying  it  was  shameful  to  cuiF  a  child 
for  a  mere  accident.. 

Columbus,  finding  himself  in  security,  cast  a. look  of  ex- 
ultation at  his  mother,  and  pouting  out  his  lips  informed 
her  that  he  didn't  tare  for  her  !  The  three  elder  children, 
who  had  successively  undergone  the  same  process  of  train- 
ing in  their  earlier  childhood,  and  w^ho  gave  daily  and 
hourly  evidence  of  its  legitimate  effects,  applauded  the  boy's 
spirit  with  such  expressions  as  these  :  ' '  That's  you ,  Lum  !  " 
' '  Stand  up  for  your  rights  !  "  "  Give  it  to  her  !  "  Fer- 
dinand even  went  so  far  as  to  propose  ''  Three  cheers  for 
Lum  !  " 

Mr.  Smith  w^as  highly  delighted  at  this  piece  of  wit,  and 
laughed  heartily  ;  but  Mrs.  Smith,  not  viewing  it  in  the 
same  light,  told  Ferdinand  to  "  hold  his  tongue."  This 
command  the  young  gentleman  obeyed  literally,  by  thrust- 
in  2^  out  that  member  and  takinof  it  between  his  thumb  and 
linger ;  at  which  performance  the  merriment  of  the  young- 
ladies  became  excessive.  Mrs.  Smith  stormed,  Mr.  Smith 
escaped  to  the  store,  and  the  "  table  broke  up  in  confusion." 

Mrs.  Smith  then  removed  the  cakes  and  apple-sauce 
that  remained,  she  kept  all  such  things  under  lock  and  key, 
and  always  took  care  of  them  herself.     Having  cleared  the 


212  '    MAR  Y  ELMER,    OR 

tabic  of  every  thing  eatable,  excepting  one  piece  of  bread 
and  a  little  apple-sauce  left  on  her  husband's  plate,  she 
plastered  the  latter  on  the  bread,  and  placing  a  cup  of 
water  beside  it,  took  the  baby  from  Mary  and  told  her  to 
go  and  eat  her  supper.  Jerusha  did  not  interfere  although 
she  looked  round  several  times  as  though  she  wondered 
why  Mrs.  Smith  did  not  go  to  her  own  room  with  the  baby, 
as  she  usually  did  directly  after  tea,  there  being  nothing  on 
the  table  to  require  her  attention.  Mrs.  Smith,  however, 
did  not  take  the  hint,  but  remained  until  Mary  had  eaten 
her  small  allowance,  and  then  giving  her  the  "  babe,"  sent 
her  back  to  the  bed  room,  where  she  found  that  the  tw^o 
girls  had  preceded  her.  They  had  called  Bounce  in,  and 
when  Mary  entered  were  adjusting  an  old  shawl  over  his 
back,  at  which  the  dog  was  greatly  annoyed. 

One  corner  of  the  shawl  had  a  hole  in  it.  This  they 
drew  over  his  tail,  and  having  tied  the  other  two  corners 
round  his  neck,  pronounced  it  a  first-ra,te  saddle.  Bounce 
did  not  submit  patiently,  but  growled  and  snarled  all  the 
time.  The  girls,  however,  knew  by  experience  that  his 
growling  when  directed  at  them  meant  nothing,  and  so  they 
continued  to  tease  him  in  every  possible  way,  and  to  laugh 
and  shout  at  his  vain  efforts  to  disengage  himself  from  the 
shawl.     Mary  felt  very  sorry  for  the  poor  creature. 

"O  girls,  don't  plague  him  so,"  said  she,  "see  how 
bad  it  makes  him  feel." 

"  Who  told  you  to  stick  in  your  gab?  "  said  Henrietta. 

< '  Who  cares  if  it  does  make  him  feel  bad  ?  "  said  Jo- 
sephine. 

Mary  ventured  to  say  that  she  cared^and  again  besought 
them  to  take  the  shawl  off. 

"  Just  hear  her,  Jo,"  said  Henrietta,  ''  what  business  is 
it  of  hers  what  we  do  ?  " 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  213 

*'  Sure  enough,  the  little  nasty  pot-wrasfJer,'^  responded 
the  amiable  sister.     *'  Come,  Hen,  let's  set  him  on  to  her." 

This  proposition  was  received  by  Hen  with  great  glee. 

*'  Seek  her,  Bounce,  seek  her  !  "  she  said,  clapping  her 
hands,  and  pointing  at  the  little  girl.  The  dog  turned  and 
looked  at  Mary.  It  was  not  such  a  look  as  that  with  which 
he  had  greeted  her  in  the  morning,  but  one  of  supplication. 
It  seemed  to  say  "  Will  yoti  not  help  me  ?  or  do  you  mean 
to  join  my  tormentors  ?  " 

"Go  it,  old  fellow!  seek  her!"  cried  both  the  mrls, 
clapping  their  hands  with  renewed  vigor. 

"  Poor  Bouncey  !  poor  Bouncey  !  "  said  Mary,  in  those 
sweet  low  tones  of  hers,  which  had  already  won  him. 

As  soon  as  he  heard  her  voice,  he  ran  directly  up  to  her 
and  licked  her  face,  uttering  at  the  same  time  a  pleadino^ 
moan.  She  immediately  went  to  work  to  extricate  him 
from  the  shawl.  A  rather  difficult  task  because  of  the 
baby  on  her  lap.  But  she  succeeded  after  a  few  moments, 
to  the  great  delight  of  the  dog.  He  jumped  about  licking 
her  face  and  hands,  and  also  bestowing  his  caresses  upon 
the  baby,  whom  the  sagacious  creature  had  discovered  to 
be  the  object  of  her  care,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  Hen 
and  Jo,   who  had  witnessed  the  scene  in  silent  wonder. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Smith  came  in  and,  seeing  Bounce, 
demanded  angrily  *'  who  let  that  dog  In  there." 

"  Mate  let  him  in,"  said  Henrietta  without  hesitation, 
at  the  same  time  winking  at  Josephine. 

*«  O  no,  no,  Mrs.  Smith,"  said  Mary.  "I  didn't  let 
him  In,  did  I,  Josephine  ?  " 

"  Indeed  you  dlfT,  and  you  know  you  did,"  answered 
that  unscrupulous  young  lady. 

*'  And  you  lie  if  you  say  you  didn't,"  chimed  in  Henri- 
etta. 


214  MART  ELMER,    OR 

««  You  little  hussy"  —  began  Mrs.  Smith. 

«*  Now  I  guess  you'll  catch  it,  Mate,"  said  Jo  (Mate 
was  the  euphonious  nickname  which  the  children  had 
given  her). 

**  O  how  can  they  say  I  did  it?  "  sobbed  the  poor  child, 
as  the  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes;  "  he  was  here  when  I 
came  in  and  they  were  putting  the  shawl  on  him." 

In  her  agony  she  appealed  to  Bounce  himself. 

"Don't  I  tell  the  truth.  Bounce?  I  didn't  let  you  in, 
did  I?" 

Bounce  could  only  wag  his  tail  in  reply,  at  which  the 
girls  laughed  immoderately  and  said  it  meant  *'  yes,  you 
did."  Mrs.  Smith  turned  him  out,  and  then  catching 
Mary  by  the  shoulder,  and  shaking  her  almost  hard  enough 
to  dislodge  J.  Pixley  from  her  lap,  addressed  her  thus  : 

"  So  you  expect  me  to  believe  you  against  both  the  girls 
do  you  —  you  good-for-nothing  little  hussy  !  Didn't  I 
tell  you  this  morning  that  I  wouldn't  have  that  dog  in 
here?     What  possest  you  to  let  him  in  — say?  " 

]\Iary  could  scarcely  articulate  "  I  didn't  let  him  in." 

*'  Don't  tell  me  such  a  lie  as  that,"  screamed  Mrs.  Smith, 
giving  her  another  and  harder  shake,  while  the  girls  looked 
on  with  entire  satisfaction. 

**  She  didn't  let  him  in,  ma,"  said  Columbus,  issuing 
from  his  sister's  bedroom  adjoining,  whither  he  had  gone 
on  a  voyage  of  discovery  like  his  famous  namesake. 

*'  What  have  you  been  doing  in  there, you  little  plague?" 
exclaimed  both  the  girls,  hoping  to  prevent  his  giving  any 
further  information.  But  Mary  too,  had  caught  his 
words,  and  said  imploringly, 

"  You  know  I  didn't  let  him  in,  don't  you, Lummy?" 

*' Yes,  I  know  you  didn't  do  it.     Hen  letted  him  in, 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES,  215 

she  opened  the  window  and  tailed  him  in.  Jo  tailed  him 
too." 

Before  this  speech  was  finished  the  girls  had  vanished. 
Mrs.  Smith  saw  at  once  that. the  boy  spoke  the  truth,  and 
that  her  dauo^hters  had  told  a  lie.  But  she  said  nothino- 
to  make  amends  to  the  poor  child  who  had  suffered  so 
severely  in  consequence  of  it.  She  commanded  Lummy 
to  *'  stop  his  talking,"  and  then  saying  it  was  time  to 
undress  the  "  babe,"  took  him  from  Mary's  arms  and  told 
her  to  put  Columbus  in  bed.  He  slept  in  a  crib  in  the 
girls'  room.  At  first  he  utterly  refused  to  go,  and  his 
mother  had  just  announced  her  intention  to  "  give  it  to 
him,"  as  soon  as  she  was  done  with  the  baby,  when  Mary 
induced  him  to  comply  by  promising  to  tell  him  a  pretty 
story,  which  promise  she  faithfully  kept  by  relating  the 
wonderful  history  of  '*  Mother  Hubbard  arid  her  dog," 
which  had  such  a  soothing  effect  upon  Columbus  that  he 
was  asleep  before  it  was  finished. 

When  Mary  returned,  Mrs.  Smith  was  ready  to  deliver 
up  J.  Pixley  to  her  charge  to  be  walked  to  sleep.  She  did 
not  notice  the  loosening  of  his  underpinning,  which  gave 
his  little  nurse  the  courage  to-  go  through  with  the  process 
of  relievino;  him  thus  as  often  as  she  found  him  sufferino^ 
from  being  pinned  too  tight.  She  then  went  to  the  kitchen 
where  she  had  *'somethinoj  to  do."  This  somethino'  the 
reader  will,  perhaps,  fancy  to  have  been  a  boxing  and 
scolding  of  her  girls  for  the  lie  they  had  told  her.  By 
no  means.  This  grievous  sin  was  passed  over  without  a 
reprimand  —  without  even  an  allusion  to  it,  when  every 
day  she  punished  her  children  for  faults  that  were  nothing 
in  comparison  with  it. 


216  MAR  Y  ELMER,    OR 


CHAPTER  VII. 


m 


^ARY  walked  with  the  baby  for  some  time  but  he 
^        showed  no  signs  of  sleepiness,  his  afternoon  nap 
\A  f|  had  made  him  wakeful.  •   He  was  quiet,  however, 
and  at    length    she    ventured    to    lay   him    down 


awake,  for  to  say  the  truth,  her  arms  could  hold  out  no 
longer.  When  Mrs.  Smith  came  back  nearly  an  hour 
afterwards,  with  a  candle,  she  found  Mary  and  the  biiby 
both  fast  asleep,  the  latter  on  her  little  stool  with  her  head 
resting  against  the  cradle  for  it  was  long  after  her  ordinary 
bed-time.  Mrs.  Smith  was  vexed  with  herself  for  not 
having  left  a  light  that  Mary  might  have  gone  on  with  her 
sewing.  She  roused  her  with  two  or  three  smart  raps  on 
her  back,  called  her  a  <'lazy  thing,"  and  scolded  her 
roundly  for  "  shirking"  in  that  way  when  she  might  have 
gone  and  got  a  candle  and  sewed,  instead  of  snoozing  away 
the  time.  Mary  was  too  worn  and  sleep}^  to  comprehend 
all  that  Mrs.  Smith  said,  and  rubbing  her  eyes  she  asked 
if  she  might  go  to  bed. 

*'  You  may  as  well,"  returned  Mrs.  Smith,  '*  for  I  see 
plainly  you  aint  a  going  to  be  good  for  anything  in  the 
evening  ;  come  along,  you're  to  sleep  with  Jerusha." 

She  led  the  way  up  the  back  stairs,  to  a  desolate  look- 
ing garret  room,  whose  unplastered  walls  admitted  many  a 
ray  of  stay-light  (**  there  was  no  need  of  finishing  off  a 
servant's  room") .     It  contained  a  dirty  bed  and  one  old 


Widow  Spriggms  departs  from  the  President's  House  "with  oncom- 
mon'  dignity."— -See  page  376. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  217 

chair.  Some  nails  were  stuck  round  in  the  beams  for 
hanging  clothes  on,  and  several  of  them  were  appropriated 
by  Jerusha's  scanty  wardrobe. 

Mary's  own  little  bas-ket  sat  on  the  floor  In  one  corner, 
Jerusha  had  carried  it  up.  Mary  was  not  a  coward,  but 
she  had  that  dread  of  strange,  lonely  sleeping  rooms  which 
is  natural  to  childhood,  and  she  inquired  timidly  whether 
Jerusha  would  be  up  soon. 

*'  What,  you  aint  afraid  I  hope,*'  said  Mrs.  Smith,  <<  a 
great  girl  like  you  afraid  of  the  dark  !  I'm  ashamed  of 
you.  Come  !  be  spry,  take  off  your  clothes  and  jump  in. 
J  can^t  stand  here  all  night  waiting  for  you.  Hereafter 
you're  to  come  up  alone,  and  without  a  light." 

So  the  trembling  child  undressed  herself  as  quickly  as 
possible,  took  a  night-gown  from  her  basket,  hurried  it  on, 
oot  into  bed,  and  was  left  alone  in  the  dark  uncomfortable 
room.  She  was  thoroughly  awake  now,  and  despite  her 
weariness,  she  could  not  get  asleep.  She  felt  so  forlorn 
and  friendless,  alone  in  the  world  as  it  were.  She  thought 
how  happy  she  had  been  with  her  mother  and  little  broth- 
ers, and  she  began  to  weep  bitterly  that  she  must  be  away 
from  them,  not  even  permitted  to  go  and  see  them.  She 
thought  of  good  Mrs.  Maddock,  and  how  she  had  said  to 
her  as  she  was  coming  away,  "  You  must  run  round  very 
often  to  see  us."  She  thought  of,  Mrs.  Lee,  and  a  vague 
notion  crossed  her  mind  that  if  she  had  been  at  home,  all 
would  have  been  different,  she  wondered  whether  she 
would  ever  come  back.  Then  she  thought  of  her  dear 
father,  and  wished  that  she  was  in  the  "Good  Place," 
with  him,  where  there  is  no  more  trouble,  —  and  that  re- 
minded her  that  she  had  not  said  her  prayers.  So  she 
rose  on  her  knees  in  the  bed  and  repeated  them  devoutly. 
19 


218  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

Then  lying  down  again  she  comforted  herself  with  the 
thought  that  if  she  tried  to  be  good  and  do  right  always, 
God  would  take  care  of  her,  and  in  the  end  all  would  be 
well.     With  this  feeling,  she  soon  dropped  asleep. 

Not  long  after,  Jerusha  came  in.  She  stepped  softly 
up  to  the  bedside,  and  holding  the  stump  of  a  candle 
which  she  carried  so  as  to  reveal  the  face  of  the  sleeper, 
she  looked  at  her  for  a  moment.  The  tears  were  still 
standing  on  the  quiet  face,  although  her  last  waking 
thoughts  had  left  a  peaceful  expression  there. 

''  What  a  pretty  little  creetur  !  "  thought  Jerusha.  *'  I 
almost  hate  to  wake  her,  she  must  be  so  tired." 

She  then  put  down  the  candle,  and  touched  the  child's 
forehead  lightly,  at  the  same  time  pronouncing  her  name. 

''Mother!  mother!  did  you  call  me!"  said  Mary, 
opening  her  eyes  and  fixing  them  wonderingly  upon  quite  a 
different  face  from  her  mother's. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  Jerusha  said  gently.  "It's 
only  me  —  Jerusha  coming  to  bed." 

''  O  yes,  I  know  now.  I  thought  I  heard  my  mother 
calling  me." 

"  I  guess  you  was  dreaming  about  your  mother." 

*'  Perhaps  I  was." 

«'  Don't  you  feel  pretty  tired?" 

*'  Yes,  quite  tired,  tlje  baby  is  so  heavy." 

*'  And  some  Imngry  too,  aint  you?  I  know  I  often  feel 
quite  hungry  after  I've  worked  hard  all  day." 

*'  Yes,  I  do  feci  rather  hungry." 

<'  Well  take  this,  'taint  a  good  thing  to  go  to  bed 
hungry."  And  slie  drew  from  her  pocket  one  of  tlie  large 
ginger-cakes  that  had  been  on  the  table  at  tea,  —  her  own 
allowance,  which  had  found  its  way  from  lier  plate  to  her 
pocket,  while  Mrs.  Smith  was  overhauling  Columbus." 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  21 U 

*'  Thank  you,  Jerusha,"  said  the  little  girl  with  evident 
pleasure.     **  Did  Mrs.  Smith  know  you  brought  it  to  rae  ?  " 

'*  She  saw  me  take  it,  eat  it  up,  you'll  feel  the  better 
for  it."  So  Mary  sat  up  in  bed  and  ate  the  cake  with  a 
good  appetite  w^iile  Jerusha  was  undressing.  In  the  ful- 
ness of  her  gratitude,  she  said, 

' '  It  was  very  good  in  you  Jerusha  to  think  to  bring  me 
something." 

*'  Law  no.  I  only  reckoned»you  might  like  a  mowful. 
I  can  fetch  you  something  amost  every  night,  but  you 
needn't  say  nothing  about  it,  for  Ferdinand  would  make 
fun  of  us  for  eating  in  bed  you  know." 

Jerusha  had  perceived  IMary's  fear  and  dread  of  this 
odious  boy,  and  thus  availed  herself  of  it  to  prevent  the 
child's  exposing  her.  Not  on  her  own  account  however. 
As  far  as  she  was  concerned,  she  would  not  have  cared 
a  straw  if  Mrs.  Smith  had  found  it  out,  but  she  feared 
bringing  trouble  upon  the  little  girl  who  already  had 
enough  to  bear. 

Jerusha,  rough  and  coarse  as  she  was,  had  good  im- 
pulses, not  often  drawn  out,  it  is  true,  in  such  a  life  as 
hers  had  been.  She  was  naturally  affectionate,  but  she 
had  never  been  treated  with  affection,  in  fact  she  had  never 
met  with  real  kindness.  She  w^as  an  orphan.  Her  earliest 
recollections  were  associated  wath  an  almshouse  from  which 
she  was  taken  when  very  young  by  a  farmer's  wife  who 
felt  no  o-reater  interest  in  her  welfare  than  did  Mrs.  Smith 
in  Mary  Elmer's.  She  was  knocked  about  and  treated 
w^ith  much  less  kindness  than  the  domestic  animals  of  the 
establishment.  Compelled  also  to  perform  drudgery,  both 
in  and  out  of  door?,  which  would  have  been  too  hard  for 
even  a  stout  boy.      Never  spoken  to  by  her  mistress  in  any 


220  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

but  a  harsh,  commanding  tone,  and  on  account  of  her  ugly 
face  and  ungainly  figure  made  the  constant  subject  of  the 
coarse  jibes  and  jests  of  the  men  about  the  farm,  who 
irave  her  the  name  of  *'  handsome  Josh,"  it  is  no  wonder 
that  Jcrusha  developed  into  a  very  disagreeable,  sulky  girl. 
IMany  of  Mrs.  Marsh's  visiting  acquaintances  wondered  at 
Mrs.  Marsh  for  keeping  her,  and  that  lady  herself  declared 
she  "  only  did  it  out  of  pity,  for  she  was  awfully  tried  with 
the  creetur."  But  it  is  not  our  purpose  to  relate  Jerusha's 
history  at  length.  Let  it  suffice  to  say  that  when  about 
fifteen,  she  contrived  to  run  away,  and  by  dint  of  begging 
alou"-  the  road,  now  a  meal  and  now  a  ride,  in  the  course 
of  a  few  days  she  had  travelled  more  than  a  hundred  miles. 
She  cared  not  where  she  went.  Her  only  wish  was  to  go 
far  enough  to  escape  forever  from  Mrs.  Marsh.  She  did 
not  yet  consider  herself  entirely  safe,  but  being  very  weary 
she  determined  to  stop  for  a  few  days  at  a  certain  large 
town  and  if  possible  earn  enough  to  carry  her  as  far  as  she 
wished  to  go.  She  presented  herself  at  numerous  doors 
with  the  question,  '*  Do  you  want  to  hire?"  but  her  ap- 
pearance always  called  forth  an  unhesitating  negative,  until 
she  applied,  almost  discouraged,  to  the  keeper  of  a  very 
large  hotel,  where  servants  were  always  in  requisition. 
She  had  so  little  confidence,  and  had  learned  to  think  her- 
self such  an  object  of  disgust,  that  she  was  quite  surprised 
when  the  proprietor,  after  a  few  questions  to  ascertain  her 
capacity,  engaged  her  for  a  month.  When  he  inquired 
what  wages  she  wished,  she  answered,    * 

"O  anything  you  please;  I  never  worked  for  wages 
and  don't  know  what  I  ought  to  have." 

lie  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  some  surprise,  but 
not  being  over  scrupulous  about  his  hired  people    if  they 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  221 

but  did  their  work  well,  he  asked  no  further  questions, 
but  conducted  her  into  the  kitchen  where  she  was  soon 
hard  at  work. 

Here  for  a  while  she  experienced  the  same  treatment 
that  she  had  always  endured  elsewhere.  She  was  the  butt 
of  all  the  servants,  both  male  and  female.  But  she  never 
answered  again.  In  fact  she  never  spoke  at  all  excepting 
as  her  v/ork  required  it.  She  was  silent,  and  always  busy. 
At  length  they  ceased  to  annoy  her,  or  to  try  to  penetrate 
the  mystery  which  surrounded  her,  and  left  her  to  herself. 

That  important  personage,  the  "  head  cook,"  I  should 
have  said  before,  had  appreciated  her  from  the  first.  Je- 
rusha's  business  was  to  assist  her,  and  she  protested  that  she 
had  never  before  known  a  young  girl  so  faithful,  or  one  who 
would  do  half  as  much  hard  work  in  a  day  ;  without  com- 
plaining too.  The  work  was  indeed  hard,  but  compara- 
tively .light  to  the  poor  girl  who  had  been  accustomed  to 
such  arduous  tasks  as  were  exacted  from  her  at  Farmer 
Marsh's.  The  accounts  of  her  usefulness  and  industry 
rendered  by  tliis  functionary  to  the  master  and  mistress  of 
the  establishment,  made  them  very  desirous  to  retain  her 
after  the  expiration  of  the  month,  and  Jerusha  would  will- 
ingly have  stayed  now  that  she  had  become  contented  in 
her  new  situation,  and  found  herself  giving  satisfaction, 
had  she  not  a  few  days  previously  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
man  who  was  a  near  neighbor  and  intimate  acquaint- 
ance of  the  Marshes.  He  was  just  driving  away  from  tlie 
door  as  Jerusha  came  out  to  draw  water,  and  did  not  see 
her.  But  she  had  been  very  uneasy  ever  since,  and  deter- 
mined to  push  on  farther  as  soon  as  her  month  was  u}). 
No  entreaties  could  prevail  with  her  to  prolong  her  stay. 

Both  tlie  proprietor  and  his  wife  werje  extremely  urgent, 
19* 


222  MAEY  ELMER,    OR 

and  tlie  cook  was  still  more  peremptory.  But  the  girl 
continued  firm.  At  length  the  mistress  said  with  some 
asperity,  that  it  did  not  look  altogether  right  for  her  to  be 
so  anxious  to  leave  a  place  with  which  she  appeared  to  be 
satisfied.  Jerusha  felt  hurt  that  Mrs.  May  hew  should 
entertain  any  suspicions  of  her,  and  very  sorry  to  be  thought 
ungrateful  to  the  first  persons  who  had  ever  treated  her 
with  any  consideration.  She  knew  that  she  had  done  noth- 
ing wrong  in  escaping  from  Mrs.  Marsh's  tyranny,  so  she 
requested  jNIrs.  May  hew  to  step  aside  with  her  a  little 
while  and  frankly  told  her  painful  story. 

''  O  Mrs.  Mayhew,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  *'  do  you 
think  I  would  willingly  leave  the  first  place  where  I  was 
ever  used  like  a  human  being,  if  I  wasn't  afraid  every  min- 
ute of  being  found  out  and  farced  back  to  that  awful  place 
where  I'm  bound  to  stay  till  I'm  eighteen  ?  " 

Mrs.  ^layhew  saw  at  once  the  truth  of  Jerusha's  story 
and  appreciated  her  anxiety  to  be  still  farther  removed  from 
danger,  and  she  no  longer  opposed  her  going.  She  com- 
municated it  to  her  husband  who  agreed  with  her,  and  so 
Jerusha  was  permitted  to  depart  in  peace,  with  several 
presents  from  Mrs.  Mayhew  and  more  money  in  the  shape 
of  wages  from  ^Ir.  Mayhew  than  she  liad  ever  expected  to 
possess  at  one  time.  The  head  cook  was  inconsolable  and 
gave  her  a  new  gingham  apron,  and  tlie  other  female  ser- 
vants wlio  had  for  some  time  felt  compunctions  of  conscience 
for  their  treatment  of  a  poor  girl  who  evidently  had  some 
sorrow  at  her  heart,  came  forward  and  affectionately  bade 
her  good-by,  wliich  they  accompanied  each  with  some  lit- 
tle keepsake.  JNIr.  Mayhew  also  kindly  advised  her  as  to 
her  course,  and  the  place  which  he  designated  as  the  one 
where   she  would  probably  be   as  much  out  of  danger  as 


TRIADS  AND   CHANGES.  223 

anywhere,  proved  to  be  our  own  thriving  town.  She  ac- 
cordingly came  hither.  But  we  have  ah^eady  gone  much 
farther  into  her  history  than  was  our  original  Intention  and 
must  rapidly  despatch  it. 

It  was  not  the  poor  wanderer's  good  fortune  to  fall  Into 
the  hands  of  any  of  those  benevolent  characters  w^ho  are 
found  in  every  city  or  village  ;  five  years  had  passed  since 
she  came  here,  and  she  had  never  experienced  the  treatment 
which  she  met  with  at  the  hotel.  Wherever  she  had  lived, 
her  life  had  been  rendered  a  burden  to  her  by  the  insults 
and  jests  which  w^ere  constantly  heaped  upon  her.  In 
many  Instances  she  was  defrauded  of  her  wages,  and  knew 
no  means  of  redress.  She  of  course  became  constantly 
more  unamlable  and  surly.  She  regarded  every  one  as  an 
enemy,  nnd  herself  as  an  object  of  disgust  and  hatred  to  all 
the  world.  Mrs  Smith  had  hired  her  because  she  could 
obtain  her  services  at  two  shillings  less  by  the  week  than 
those  of  any  others  to  whom  she  had  applied.  And  now 
\Qi  us  return  to  the  forlorn  little  garret  room  where  we  left 
our  two  girls. 

Mary  readily  promised  to  say  nothing  about  eating  In 
bed  ;  "  indeed  she'd  not  tell  of  it  and  have  Jerusha  laughed 
at  by  such  a  naughty  boy  as  Ferdinand."  After  Jerusha 
had  lain  down,  Mary  said  innocently, 

*'  You  don't  say  your  prayers  until  after  you  get  In  bed, 
do  you?" 

Jerusha,  not  knowing  what  else  to  reply,  said,  "  No." 

"  Well,  I  always  say  mine  before  I  lie  down  when  I'm 
with  my  mother;  we  kneel  down,  Johnny  and  I,  beside 
her  and  say  them.  But  to  night,  what  do  you  think  !  I 
forgot  It.  I  forgot  to  say  my  prayers  until  after  I'd  been 
in  bed  a  great  while.     Wasn't   I  wicked?     And  then  I 


22'i  MARY  EL3IER,    OR 

had  to  say  them  where  I  was,  for  I  was  afraid  to  get  out 
of  bed  in  the  dark  in  this  strange  place.  But  I  must  stop 
talking  and  give  you  a  chance  to  say  yours." 

After  waiting  a  few  minutes,  and  perceiving  that  Jeru- 
sha  was  silent,  she  said, 

"  Do  you  say  your  prayers  to  yourself?  " 

Jerusha  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  answered  frankly, 
but  with  some  petulance, 

"  No,  I  don't  say  any  prayers ;  I  never  had  anybody  to 
learn  me."  t 

**  Had  you  no  father  or  mother?" 

**  Not  as  I  remember  of." 

* '  Who  took  care  of  you  when  you  were  little  ?  " 

*'  Nobody.     I  lived  in  a  poor-house." 

*'  Poor-house!  dreadful!  that's  where  Mrs.  Smith  says 
I  shall  go  if  I  don't  be  good  and  mind  her.  It's  an  awful 
place,  isn't  it?" 

"  Not  so   awful  as  some  places  where  I've  lived  since." 

*'  Where  have  you  lived  since?  " 

*' Everywhere,  and  nowhere  that  anybody  ever  cared 
for  me,  and  so  let's  go  to  sleep  and  not  talk  any  more." 

*'  But  J  care  for  you,"  said  the  child,  putting  her  arm 
round  Jerusha.  "I  care  for  you,  and  I'll  learn  you  a 
prayer  ;  not  my  little  one,  but  '  Our  Father  ;  '  one  tliat's 
meant  for  everybody,  big  and  little,  to  say;  wouldn't  you 
like  to  learn  it  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  believe  I  can  learn  it  if  I  try." 

*'  Yes,  you  can  if  you  say  it  over  after  me  as  I  did  after 
my  mother  when  I  learnt  it." 

And  so  little  jMary  began  saying  the  Lord's  prayer, 
pausing  after  each  petition  for  Jerusha  to  repeat  it  after 
her,  which  the  girl  did  very  correctly,  and  when  it  was 
concluded,  Mary  said, 


.V 


TRIALS  AND   CIIAXGES.  225 

"  O  you  can  learn  it  very  easy.  If  we  repeat  It  so  every 
night,  after  a  little  while  you  can  say  it  all  alone,  and  that 
will  be  so  nice  !  " 

Then  the  fair  and  lovely  little  one  raised  her  head  and 
kissed  the  forlorn,  forsaken  creature  beside  her,  and  a  mo- 
ment after  -was  sleeping  sweetly.  The  first  kiss  that  had 
ever  been  Imprinted  upon  that  distorted  face.  The  effect 
was  wonderful ;  Jerusha  had  from  the  first  moment  that 
she  saw  the  child  felt  an  unusual  interest  In  her  ;  but  now 
she  knew^  that  there  was  a  bond  between  them  which  never 
would  be  broken.  And  she  vowed  to  herself  to  protect 
the  little  girl  to  the  utmost  of  her  power.  She  loved  Mary 
with  the  first  affection  that  had  ever  warmed  her  icy  heart. 
Long  did  she  lie  awake ;  new  and  strange  thoughts  were 
in  her  mind.  She  wondered  whether  she  had  ever  been  as 
innocent  as  the  child  beside  her.  She  was  almost  sure  she 
never  was.  i^nd  then  she  wondered  what  she  should  have 
been  with  a  mother  to  guide,  and  teach,  and  love  her  in 
childhood,  and  she  pitied  from  her  heart  the  little  creature 
who  w^as  compelled  to  be  separated  frpm  so  excellent  a 
parent  as  It  was  evident  Mrs.  Elmer  must  be. 

"  How  entirely  different  she  is,"  thought  Jerusha, 
*'  from  these  Smith  children  !  It's  plain  enough  she's  had 
quite  another  sort  of  bringing  up.  Poor  thing  !  She'll 
have  enough  to  bear  here.  I'll  do  all  I  can  for  her,  but 
dear  me  !  that  won't  be  much  among  such  a  set." 

The  next  morning  as  soon  as  Jerusha  was  dressed,  she 
called  Mary,  and  after  telling  her  that  she  need  not  hurry 
her  head  off,  went  down  and  left  her.  So  the  little  girl 
threw  on  her  clothes,  said  her  prayers  and  followed. 
When  she  reached  the  kitchen  she  found  a  basin  of  water 
in  the  sink  to  wash  herself,  and  a  clean,  coarse  towel ;  her 


226  MARY  EL3IER,    OR 

own  towel,  Jeriisha  told  her,  and  no  one  else  should  use 
it,  and  she  would  always  find  it  in  one  particular  spot, 
which  she  showed  her.  Mary  thanked  the  kind  girl,  who 
then  fastened  her  clothes,  and  combed  her  hair  neatly. 
Not  long  after,  ding,  dong,  went  Mrs.  Smith's  bell.  .  Mary 
obeyed  the  summons,  and  going  to  the  bedroom  where  the 
infant  J.  Pixley  was  roaring  in  his  cradle,  was  ordered  by 
his  mother  to  take  him  into  the  kitchen  till  she  got  dressed. 

But  we  are  not  intending  to  accompany  our  little  hero- 
ine through  another  day  at  Mrs.  Smith's,  for  all  succeeding 
days  varied  but  little  from  the  first.  Every  day  brought 
with  it  the  same  round  of  wearying  labors,  of  vexations  and 
insults  from  the  children,  and  harshness,  nay,  even  abuse 
from  Mrs.  Smitli,  and  every  night  the  same  stolen  kind- 
nesses from  Jerusha,  who  at  the  end  of  a  week  could  say, 
*' Our  Father  "  without  any  help  from  her.  little  teacher. 
Afterwards  they  repeated  it  together. 

Susan  Elmer  was  surprised  that  Mary  did  not  come 
home  sometimes,  and  growing  anxious,  about  her,  went 
one  day  to  Mrs.  Smith's  to  see  the  child.  Mary  was  de- 
lio'hted,  and  would  have  thrown  herself  into  her  mother's 
arms,  but  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Smith  restrained  her.  The 
latter  gave  so  many  plausible  reasons  for  not  allowing 
Mary  to  go  home  ;  such  as  the  fear  of  its  making  her  dis- 
contented, her  extreme  anxiety  that  she  should  be  happy 
and  contented,  &c.  &c.,  that  Susan  was  reluctantly  com- 
pelled to  acquiesce.  Mrs.  Smith  treated  Mary  with 
unusual  kindness  in  Mrs.  Elmer's  presence  ;  but  a  mother's 
eye  is  quick,  and  Susan  saw  clearly  by  the  child's  counte- 
nance that  she  was  not  happy.  She  told  Mrs.  Maddock 
on  her  return  that  she  was  convinced  it  was  not  just  the 
place  for  Mary  at  INIrs.  Smith's ;   but  she  lived  in  hope  that 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  227 

something  would  turn  up  ere  long,  which  would  change 
the  order  of  affairs.  She  scarcely  acknowledged  to  herself 
that  this  something  for  which  she  looked  so  ardently,  was 
the  return  of  Mrs.  Lee. 

In  this  manner  several  weeks  elapsed,  and  then  a  change 
took  place  in  little  Mary's  circumstances,  and  unfortu- 
nately, not  a  change  for  the  better.  Mrs.  Smith's  suspi- 
cions had  been  for  some  time  excited  by  the  rapid 
disappearance  of  certain  articles  from  Jerusha's  plate  at 
tea.  At  length,  by  very  close  watching,  she  actually  saw 
the  transfer  of  a  buttered  rusk  and  piece  of  cheese  from 
plate  to  pocket.  It  was  indeed  the  poor  girl's  own  por- 
tion. She  w^as  never  allowed  to  take  anything  twice,  and 
this  piece  of  self-denial  she  daily  practised  to  keep  her  little 
favorite  from  starvation. 

Mrs.  Smith  said  nothing.  She  pretended  not  to  see, 
but  she  determined  to  find  out  *' what  became  of  the 
victuals."  She  therefore  kept  her  eye  on  Jerusha  all  the 
evening,  but  discovering  nothing,  she  followed  stealthily 
up  stairs  soon  after  the  girl  went  to  her  room.  She  bent 
her  ear  close  down  to  a  crack  round  the  door,  and  heard 
Mary  thank  Jerusha  for  the  rusk  and  inquire  whether  she 
would  not  like  to  eat  a  piece  of  it  herself. 

'*  O  no,"  returned  Jerusha,  ''I  don't  want  any;  I 
brought  it  all  for  you." 

This  was  enough  for  Mrs.  Smith.  She -opened  the  door 
suddenly,  and  stood  before  the  two  astonished  girls,  a 
perfect  picture  of  rage  and  malice. 

**I've  caught  ye  at  last!  you  nasty,  underhanded 
snoops.  V\^  long  suspected  this,  and  now  I'm  satisfied. 
What  business  have  you  to  be  a  stealing  victuals  to  bring 
up  here  and  stuff  that  young  one  ?  say  !  " 


228  IIAEY  ELMER,    OR 

Jerusha,  who  was  somewhat  alarmed  at  first,  had  time 
to  recover  her  composure  during  this  tirade. 

^'Stealing,  did  you  say?"  she  asked,  looking  the 
w^oman  full  in  the  face. 

"  Yes,  stealing  ;  carrying  off  my  victuals  unbeknown  to 
me  to  feed  that  young  one." 

*'  Mrs.  Smith  !  I  never  stole  a  mou'ful  of  victuals  from 
you  in  all  my  life,  and  you  know  I  didn't.  Whatever  I've 
brought  to  Mary  I've  took  from  my  ow^n  share,  that  you 
w^as  willing  I  should  have.  I've  robbed  myself  to  keep 
her  from  starving,  poor  little  creetur  !  If  that's  stealing, 
I'll  steal  again." 

*'  You  would,  hey?     You  say  that  to  my  face,  do  ye?" 

«' Yesjl  do,  and  to  any  other  face  of  clay  you'll  bring 
on." 

<'You  sassy,  impudent  trollop!  quit  the  house  this 
minute,     I  won't  harbor  ye  no  longer." 

*'  Very  well,  pay  me  my  wages  and  I'll  quit  to-night." 

*' Wages!  you're  a  pretty  one  to  talk  about  wages! 
Not  a  red  cent   do   you  get  out  o'  me   after  such  conduct." 

V  So  you  don't  mean  to  pay  what  you  owe  me?  Mrs, 
Smith,  I've  w^orked  hard  and  faithfully  here  for  three 
months,  and  you've  only  paid  me  for  the  first  month  of  the 
time.  Isha'n't  leave  the  house  till  I  get  the  rest  that's  due 
me." 

*'Sha'n't,hey?" 

*' No, I  shan't." 

*<  Well,  I  iruess  we'll  see  w^ho's  mistress  here." 

With  these  words  Mrs.  Smith  slammed  the  door  fu- 
riously and  went  down  stairs.  During  this  qoUoquy,  little 
Mary  lav  buried  under  the  bed-clothes,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot.  As  soon  as  INIrs.  Smith  w^as  fairly  gone, 
she  uncovered  her  head  and  said  in  great  distress, 


TRIALS  AXD   CHANGES.  229 

*'0,   Jerusha,  what  have  you  done?     What   is  ]\Irs. 
Smith  jroino:  to  do  ?     What  will  become  of  me  if  you  g:o 


aw 


ay 


?" 


**  Don't  feel  so  bad,  Mary,"  said  Jerusha,  beginning  to 
undress.  "  I  know  well  enough  what  she'll  do  ;  she'll  be 
all  over  it  by  morning,  and  want  me  to  stay." 

"  O,  I'm  so  glad." 

**  Wait  a  minute.  I  sha'n't  stay,  if  I  get  my  wages, 
and  Mr.  Smith  won't  dare  to  hold  onto  'em,  if  sJie  wants 
to  ever  so  much  ;   and  I  shall    clear  out  in   the  morning." 

"  O,  how  badly  you  make  me  feel  !  There's  nobody 
here  that  cares  for  me  but  you.  Bounce  does,  but  he  can't 
do  much  for  me.  He  likes  to  stay  by  me,  and  often 
growls  at  the  children  when  they  plague  me.  I  know  he 
would  bite  them  if  they  should  lay  a  hand  on  me  ;  but  he 
i.-n't  always  by  when  they  tease  me.  Baby  loves  me,  too, 
but  he  isn't  like  you,  Jerusha.     O,  what  shall  I  do?" 

*'  Jest  so,  that's  the  only  reason  why  I  hate  to  go,  you 
poor  little  creetur.  But  maybe  I  can  do  something  for 
you  after  I  go." 

"  What  can  you  do  then?  " 

*'  Why,  if  can't  I  do  anything  else,  I  can  go  and  tell 
your  mother  all  about  it,  and  she'll  come  and  take  you 
home.  But  I  know  she'd  like  to  have  you  get  a  good 
place  where  they'd  be  kind  to  you  ;  and  who  knows  but 
what  I  can  find  you  such  a  place  ?  " 

*'  O,  if  you  only  could  !  Some  place  where  they  would 
let  me  go  and  see  my  mother  when  I  want  to,  perhaps  the 
same  place  where  you  go.  But  would  Mrs.  Smith  let  me 
go?"  _  .     • 

**  She'd  have  to   I   guess,  if —  but  no  matter,  let's  say 
our  prayers  and  go  to  sleep." 
20 


230  .      MART  ELMER,    OR 

After  prayers,  Mary  sobbed  out,  "  O,  how  lonesome  I 
shall  be,  sleeping  here  alone." 

*'  Don't  you  remember,"  said  Jerusha,  **  what  you  said 
to  Jo,  t'other  day,  when  she  was  bragging  that  nobody 
saw\\QV  take  that  candy?  you  said,  '  O,  Jo,  don't  you 
know  that  God  is  everywhere,  and  sees  all  we  do ? '" 

'*  Yes,  I  remember,  and  how  Jo  laughed  and  made  fun  of 
me.  But  I'm  glad  you  spoke  of  it,  and  I'll  try  to  think 
about  God  watching  over  me,  and  the  holy  angels  being 
around  me  every  night  when  I  come  to  bed." 

*'  And  I  hope  it  won't  be  many  nights  you'll  have  to 
think  of  it  in  this  place." 

And  then  they  went  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HEN  Mrs.  Smith  reached  the  kitchen,  she  found 
her  husband  there,  and  requested  him  to  *'  go 
straight  up  stairs  and  turn  Jerusha  out  of  the 
house."  He  asked  an  explanation.  She  gave 
it  j  whereupon  he  called  her  a  fool  for  making  a  muss  about 
it. 

**  Don't  you  see,"  he  said,  *' how 'twill  work  if  you 
send  her  off?  She'll  blaze  it  all  round,  and  the  whole 
ncigliborliood  will  be  up  in  arms  about  your  starcingtlic 
help.  And  nuw's  tlie  time,  you  know,  for  us  to  be 
doing  all  we  can   to  get  into  good  society  ;  and   there's 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  .  231 

some  that's  envious  of  us  who'd  be  glad  to  make  tlie  most 
of  it.  And  besides  all  that,  you  can't  get  another  girl 
that  will  work  so  well  and  so  cheap  as  she  does.  I  ad- 
vise you  to  pass  it  over,  and  let  things  go  right  on  In  the 
morning  as  if  nothing  had  happened." 

Mrs.  Smith  could  but  acknowledge  that  this  would  be  the 
wisest  course  ;  and  after  indulging  in  a  terrible  out-pour- 
ing against  Jerusha,  and  Mary,  too,  she  concluded  to  adopt 
It.  Accordingly  In  the  morning  she  said  nothing  to  Je- 
rusha about  leaving,  nor  did  the  latter  speak  of  it  until 
Mr.  Smith  made  his  appearance,  when  she  immediately 
asked  him  for  the  money  due  to  her,  saying  that  Mrs. 
Smith  had  told  her  to  quit,  and  she  wished  to  do  so  as 
soon  as  possible.  Mr.  Smith  remonstrated,  but  she  was 
immovable.  Even  Mrs.  Smith  condescended  to  request 
her  to  remain,  and  said  "  she'd  got  over  her  feelings." 

*' Well,  J  haint  got  over  mme,"  said  Jerusha.  "I 
can't  stay  another  day  in  a  house  where  I've  been  treated 
as  I  was  last  night." 

"  Well,  you  won't  get  any  recommend,"  said  Mrs. 
Smith. 

^'Iwant  none  from  you,^^  replied  Jerusha,  with  con- 
tempt. 

Smith  at  length  saw  that  he  could  do  no  less  than  pay 
her  the  money,  which  he  did  with  a  very  ill  grace,  and 
under  a  storm  of  words  from  his  wife,  who  protested 
"  there  was  no  need  of  his  paying  a  cent,"  &c.,  &c. 

When  Jerusha  had  received  the  money  she  w^ent  to  her 
room,  packed  up  her  few  articles  in  a  bundle,  and  started 
off.  Smith  was  standing  in  the  outer  door  as  she  passed 
through,  and  said  to  her,  with  a  look  and  tone  intended 
to  be  very  impressive,  — 


232  .        MARY  ELMER,    OR 

**  Look  here  !  the  less  you  say  the  better." 

'*  The  better  for  ijou^  I  know  it,"  she  answered,  with 
great  unconcern,  as  she  took  her  way  down  the  yard. 
Mr.  Smith's  emotions  at  this  cool  rejoinder,  "  may  be 
better  imagined  than  described." 

When  she  reached  Mrs.  Smith's  bedroom  window 
which  looked  out  upon  the  side  yard,  she  saw  little  Mary 
standing  by  it,  baby  in  arms,  and  she  knew  that  the  child 
)iad  stationed  herself  there  to  see  her  when  she  passed,  as 
her  favorite  post  was  by  the  window  next  the  street. 
Mrs.  Smith  was  still  in  the  kitchen,  brooding  in  impotent 
rage  over  her  troubles.  Clary's  eyes  were  brimful  of  tears 
which  she  could  not  suppress,  as  she  stood  there  waiting 
to  see  the  last  of  her  only  friend.  But  Jerusha  did  not 
venture  to  stop  and  speak,  for  she  knew  that  Mr.  Smith 
was  watching  her,  and  feared  that  it  might  increase  the 
little  girl's  trials  if  they  were  to  hold  any  conversation. 
So  she  merely  said  in  passing,  — 
•    *'  Keep  up,  you'll  hear  from  me  soon." 

It  was  a  sultry  morning  in  August,  when  Jerusha  went 
forth,  as  she  had  often  done  before,  homeless,  friendless, 
and  not  knowing  whither  to  go. 

*'  But  first  and  foremost,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
slowly  pursued  her  way.  "  I  must  see  if  anything  can  be 
done  for  jNIary.  But  dear  me  !  where. shall  I  go?  I  can't 
tell  who'd  be  likely  to  treat  her  well ;  I'm  sure  I've  never 
lived  at  any  place  here  where  I'd  be  willing  to  have  her 
go,  the  precious  little  innocent  creetur  !  Well,  if  I  can't 
do  anytliing  else,  I  can  go  and  tell  her  mother  all  about 
it,  and  she'll  take  her  right  home,  better  starve  there  than 
at  SnTith's.  If  that  Mrs.  Lee  she  talks  so  much  about 
was  only  at   home,  I'd    go  straight   there.      Shc^s   a  got)d 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  233 

woman,  I  know,  and  she  would  take  her  away.  Who 
knows  but  she  has  got  home?  Any  how,  I  can  go  see. 
So  she  retraced  some  of  her  steps,  and  turning  a  corner, 
went  directly  to  Mrs.  Lee's  house.  As  she  approached 
it,  her  courage  rose  on  seeing  the  front  windows  thrown 
open.  She  went  round  to  the  back  door  and  knocked, 
but  no  answer.  As  she  was  about  to  repeat  the  knock, 
Peter  Jackson,  who  was  at  work  in  the  garden,  and  had 
seen  her  enter  the  gate,  came  round.  In  answer  to  her 
inquiries,  he  said  that  Mrs.  Lee  would  be  home  that  very 
evening.  She  had  sent  word  several  days  before,  and  he 
had  been  "  give7i  the  house  a  good  air  en,  to  be  ready  for 
her." 

**  O,  dear  !  "  exclaimed  the  disappointed  girl ;  "  I'm  so 
sorry,  I  want  to  see  her  dreadfully." 

"  Important  business  with  the  missus,  has  the  youno- 
'oman  o^ot  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  important;  but  I'll  be  sure  to  come  in  this 
evening,  rain  or  shine." 

She  then  pursued  her  way  in  search  of  employment, 
and  at  last  offered  herself  at  a  large  public  house,  where 
she  had  never  applied  before.  It  was  a  busy  time  with 
them.  The  court  being  in  session,  the  house  full  of 
boarders,  and  servants  scarce,  she  was  hired  for  a  fort- 
night, and  -no  recommendation  required.  A  hard,  rough 
place,  but  she  was  used  to  such  places. 

As  soon  as  Jerusha  was  out  of  the  house,  Mrs.  Smith 
began  to  vent  her  rage  upon  little  Mary,  whom  she  re- 
garded as  the  cause  of  all  her  troubles.  During  the  pro- 
cess of  washing  the  baby,  she  improved  the  time  in  pouring 
forth  a  storm  of  indignation  against  the  child.  The 
shrill   tones  of  her  voice,  the   incessant  screaming  of  J. 

20* 


234  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

Pixley,  the  consternation  of  Mary,  who  was  flying  about 
*' settino-  to  riMits,"  altooether  made  it  a '*  scene  for  a 
painter."  When  the  washing  was  completed,  Mrs.  Smith 
Liid  the  baby  in  the  cradle,  and  ordered  Mary  to  finish 
hemming  that  apron,  while  she  was  rocking  him  to 
sleep. 

"  As  soon  as  it's  done,"  she  added,  *'  come  out  in  the 
kitchen,  there's  plenty  to  do  there  now." 

And  after  dropping  the  curtain  to  shade  the  room, 
Bhe  went  out,  and  Mary  took  her   station  by  the  cradle. 

There  she  sits,  the  patient  young  watcher,  rocking  the 
cradle  with  her  foot,  and  while  she  sews,  she  sings  too. 

"  Hnslj,my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber, 
Holy  angels  ^uard  thy  bed,"  — 

The  baby  is  very  quiet  now.  His  eyes  are  open  still, 
but  he  seems  to  be  in  a  serene  and  comfortable  state  of 
mind.  At  length  the  lids  begin  to  droop,  Mary  is  watch- 
ing them,  and  her  voice  falls  too.  And  gradually  as  they 
droop  lower  and  lower,  so  lower  and  lower  are  the  tones 
of  that  childish  voice,  until  they  fall  as  gently  on  the 
baby's  ear,  as  the  "  Heavenly  blessings"  she  sings  of,  on 
his  head..  And  now  they  die  quite  away,  for  the  baby  is 
fairly  in  Dreamland. 

How  fast  those  little  fingers  move  over  the  hem  !  It  is 
morning,  and  tlie  child  is  not  yet  worn  out  with  the  day's 
labor.  Besides,  there  is  a  hope  in  her  heart.  She  is 
thinking  about  Jerusha,  and  something  whispers  her  that 
deliverance  is  not  far  off.  Hark  !  she  hears  a  noise,  a 
very  pleasant  sound.  She  pauses  in  her  work  a  moment 
and  listens  to  it.  She  knows  whence  it  proceeds,  for  slie 
hears   it   almost   every    day.     A   young   lady   who   lives 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  235 

opposite  teaches  a  few  scholars  at  her  own  home,  and  now 
these  children  are  out  enjoying  their  pastime  in  the  yard. 
Mary  loves  to  watch  them  at  their  play.  It  is  next  thing 
to  being  out  at  play  herself.  Many  a  time  has  she  stood 
at  the  window  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  while  her  feelings 
entered  warmly  into  their  animated  sports.  She  rises  and 
steps  softly  across  the  room,  as  softly  as  she  can  with  those 
great  clumsy  shoes  which  were  not  made  to  Jit,  but  to  be 
grown  into,  and  furnished  from  Mr.  Smith's  shop,  who  has 
plenty  of  leather  on  hand  of  course,  but  Mrs.  Smith  "  is 
not  a  going  to  be  getting  shoes  every  month  for  the  hussy 
to  bano*  out."  In  fact,  she  thinks  it  all  nonsense  for  her 
to  wear  shoes  at  all,  she  wouldn't  allow  it  if  she  didn't  sup- 
pose her  mother  would  make  a  fuss  about  it,  if  she  should 
happen  to"  come  in  and  find  her  barefooted. 

She  raises  a  corner  of  the  curtain  and  peeps  out.  How 
beautiful  everything  looks  on  this  soft  morning  of  the  wa- 
ning summer  !  especially  that  door-yard  opposite.  There 
are  several  fine  trees  in  it,  and  the  little  girls  are  frolicking 
so  merrily  under  them  !  A  canary-bird's  cage  hangs 
from  one  of  the  branches,  and  he  too,  seems  blithe  and 
contented  in  his  little  prison.  And  ever  and  anon,  one  of 
the  number  runs  up  and  speaks  to  him,  and  he  carols  joy- 
ously back.  And  all  the  time  the  pleasant-faced  young 
lady  sits  by  her  open  window  regarding  their  sports,  with- 
out appearing  to  be  the  slightest  check  upon  their  hilarit}^. 
And  our  little  nurse  rejoices  too,  as  all  sweet  innocent 
natures  do  in  seeing  others  happy. 

She  stands  thus  for  some  minutes,  with  one-hand  holding 
out  the  curtain,  and  her  head  thrust  a  little  way  behind. 
Her  sewino"  is  in  the  other  hand,  and  has  not  advanced  anv 
since  she  came  to  the  window.      She  has,  however,  but  an 


23 G  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

incli  or  two  more  to  hein,  and  she  is  going  on  with  it  di- 
rectly. She  does  not  intend  to  look  long.  But  that  merry 
group  is  very  fascinating.  Ah  little  one  !  I  greatly  fear 
you  will  stand  gazing  until  the  teacher  calls  them  in,  unless 
something  prevents  you.  But  something  will  prevent  you. 
Come  away,  ]Mary  !  come  quickly  !  There  is  a  step  in  the 
passage,  a  step  that  bodes  you  no  good,  but  you  are  too 
absorbed  to  hear  it.  The  she- wolf  is  close  upon  you,  haste, 
little  lamb,  to  your  place  by  the  cradle  side,  while  there  is 
yet  time.  She  will  never  know  that  you  have  left  it.  It 
is  but  an  innocent  fraud,  we  cannot  bear  that  you  should 
fall  into  her  hands  to-day,  when  she  is  so  furious.  Come 
away,  little  lamb  !  still  heedless  !  The  Good  Shepherd 
alone  can  protect  you  now.  Look  !  she  dreams  not  of 
danger,  until  she  feels  herself  suddenly  dragged  backwards 
by  the  arm  and  furiously  shaken. 

*'  You  miserable,  wretched  hussy  !  this  is  the  way  you 
mind  me,  is  it?  this  is  the  way  you  stick  to  your  sewing 
when  my  back's  turned?"  (xlnother  terrible  shake.)  "  O 
you  deceitful  little  slut !  I've  a  good  mind  to  take  your 
hide  off,  you  richly  deserve  it,  you  viper  !  "  (another  and 
harder  shake  ;  how  pale  the  little  one  turns  !  but  she  does 
not  speak  a  word.)  "  What  business  have  you  to  be  a 
looking  out  of  the  window?  I  never  gave  you  leave. 
'Twould  do  me  good  to  pound  you  within  an  inch  of  your 
life." 

See  !  she  is  raising  her  arm  !  Hold,  woman  !  you  are  not 
going  to  strike  that  defenceless  creature  !  you  cannot  do  it. 
Look  at  that  poor  little  white  face  !  as  white  as  a  dead 
child's  almost,  but  not  so  calm.  It  is  the  very  image  of 
despair.  Look  at  it !  have  you  no  compassion  ?  no  bowels 
of  mercy?     O,  have  you  not  children  of  your  own? 


TRIALS  AND   CIIANGEST  237 

There !  the  blow  has  fallen  !  another !  yet  another ! 
God  of  mercy,  stop  her  !  —  Hark  !  a  ring  at  the  door- 
bell— 

* '  There,  run  to  the  door,  and  be  thankful  for  getting  off 
so  well.'^ 

But  the  child  has  sunk  on  the  floor  and  she  does  not  rise. 
She  is  stunned  and  bruised.  She  did  not  even  hear  the 
bell. 

**  Get  along  to  the  door, you  stupid  thing  you,"  (with  a 
kick.)  "  Don't  you  hear  the  bell  a  ringing?" 

The  child  is  on  her  feet  now,  but  how  changed  !  The' 
bright  and  hopeful  look  which  we  saw  on  her  countenance 
but  now,  is  gone  ;  an  expression  of  agony  has  taken  its 
place.  But  beside  this,  there  is  sometliing  strange,  some- 
thing never  seen  there  before.  The  colorless  lips  are 
pressed  closely  together,  and  the  blue  eyes  have  an  un- 
wonted fire  in  them.  The  crushed  worm  will  turn  soon. 
The  little  girl  has  not  uttered  a  sound,  but  her  spirit  is 
roused,  and  says  within  her,  "  It  is  enough,  I  will  go  to 
my  mother,  I  will  go  this  very  day  if  I  can  but  escape." 

*'  Come,  make  haste  for  the  door  !  and  don't  2^0  scuflSno: 
along  so;  lift  up  your  feet,  can't  ye?  Show  'em  into  the 
front  parlor,  if  it's  a  lady." 

When  Mary  reached  the  door,  she  opened  it  to  a  pleas- 
ant-looking, handsomely  dressed  lady,  who  inquired  for 
Mrs.  Smith.  There  was  but  one  thought  in  Mary's  mind 
then,  —  how  to  escape,  instead  of  answering  immediately, 
she  laid  her  hand  on  the  lady's  arm,  and  looked  up  into-  her 
face  with  a  strange  pleading  expression,  that  surprised  her 
not  a  little.  But  she  did  not  speak.  After  a  minute  or 
two,  the  lady  said,  — 

**  Did  you  not  understand  me, my  child?  Is  Mrs.  Smith 
at  home  ?  " 


238  3IARY  ELMER,    OR 

Then  the  little  girl  recovered  herself,  and  was  frightened 
that  she  had  dared  to  be  so  free  with  a  stranger,  and  she 
answered  quickly,  and  led  the  lady  to  the  parlor. 

When  she  announced  to  Mrs.  Smith  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Bennet  Squires,  the  former  experienced  no  slight  degree 
of  elation  at  the  honor  of  a  visit  from  so  distinguished  a 
personage,  for  Mrs.  Bennet  Squires  was,  in  fact,  the  leader 
of  the  Pm  in  our  town. 

*'  Dear  me  !"  she  exclaimed,  *'  so  shes  condescended 
to  call  at  last.  Well,  I'll  let  her  know  I'm  as  good  as  she 
is,  any  how.." 

So  she  hastened  to  change  her  dress  for  a  flaring  plaid 
silk,  stuck  on  her  false  front,  with  a  very  elaborate,  un- 
tasteful  cap  above  It.  She  had  plenty  of  her  own  hair, 
but  It  was  beginning  to  turn  gray  which  she  considered  a 
great  disfigurement,  and  always  concealed  on  important 
occasions,  either  with  an  ugly  dye,  or  a  still  uglier  false 
front  and  cap.  She  also  put  on  her  California  jewelry  ; 
an  audacious  pair  of  earrings,  a  watch  ^nd  cable  chain, 
with  a  pencil  case  and  half  a  dozen  silly  looking  ornaments 
besides  dangling  to  It,  several  clumsy  finger  rings,  and  an 
enormous  pin  —  full  of  red,  blue  and  green  stones.  She 
was  delighted  with  an  opportunity  of  showing  off  these 
fine  things  as  well  as  the  splendor  of  her  parlors  to  one  of 
the  "  upper  crust." 

Mrs.  Squires  meantime  was  entertaining  herself  with  a 
survey  of  the  parlor  decorations.  She  was  a  woman  of 
correct  taste,  and  a  strong  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and 
of  course  could  not  but  be  'highly  amused  at  the  appear- 
ance of  this  parvenu  establishment.  The  huge  pyramids 
of  brass  and  glass  which  glittered  on  the  mantel,  the 
gaudy  cornices,  and    other    tinsel    articles,  she    protested 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  239 

made  her  ej^es  ache  for  a  whole  week  afterwards  ;  while 
the  stiff  arrangement  of  the  furniture,  about  the  sides 
of  the  rooms,  looking  as  if  it  did  not  feel  at  home  in  the 
least,  gave  her  a  very  uncomfortable  feeling,  and  a  strong 
desire  to  relieve  it  from  its  uneasy  position.  But  the 
*'  family  picture  "  astonished  her  more  than  anything  else. 
She  had  travelled  and  visited  many  galleries  of  paintings, 
but  had  never  seen  a  work  of  art  that  would  in  any  degree 
compare  with  it.  Her  ecstasy  was  so  great  that  she  could 
not  help  indulging  in  a  hearty  laugh  all  by  herself. 

When  her  amazement  at  the  grandeur  which  surrounded 
her  had  in  a  measure  subsided,  the  pale,  pleading  face 
of  the  little  girl  returned  to  her  recollection.  There  was 
an  expression  about  it  that  impressed  her  greatly,  and  she 
knew  that  there  must  be  something  in  the  child's  present 
circumstances  which  had  caused  her  singular  manner  when 
she  spoke  to  her,  and  she  regretted  that  she  had  not  said 
more  to  her. 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Smith  interrupted  these  reflec- 
tions. She  advanced  towards  ^Irs.  Squires  with  an  air 
of  jDcrfect  self-satisfaction,  and  much  rustling  of  silk. 

**rm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  seizing  Mrs. 
Squires's  hand  and  shaking  it  up  and  down  like  a  wood- 
chopper.  ' '  You've  been  so  long  a  coming  that  I  begun 
to  think  you  didn't  mean  to  call  at  all.  Set  down  in  the 
rocking-chair,  do." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  seat  is  very  good." 

And  so  Mrs.  Smith  dumped  herself  down  into  the  rock- 
ing-chair, and  immediately  began  to  rock  back  and  forth, 
in  a  manner  characteristic  of  nervousness  and  vulgarity 
combined.  '*  Won't  you  take  off  your  things?"  and 
"  how's  Mr.  Squires?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Smith,  hurriedly. 

<*  Mr.  Squires  is  very  well,  I  thank  you." 


240  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

'*  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it,  health  is  such  a  blessin',  I 
feel  to  envy  well  folks,  since  I'm  gitting  so  clelikit." 

*'  I  noticed  a  beautiful  little  flower  near  the  gate  in  your 
yard,  Mrs.  Smith,  is  it  an  annual?  " 

<'  I  don't  know  whether  that's  the  name  of  it  or  not,  I 
never  troubled  myself  to  know  what  it  was  ;  you  see  my 
nurse  girl  had  some  seeds,  and  my  little  boy  asked  me  to 
let  her  plant  'em  somewhere,  so  I  told  her  to  stick  'em 
down  there ;  but  I  aint  no  great  hand  for  flowers  any 
way  ;  but  my  husband  has  a  great  deal  of  taste  in  the  fine 
arts,  and  so  have  I,  and  our  family  pictur  is  a  satisfaction 
to  us  both.  I  sejested  the  suppositions  myself,  and  if  the 
cost  of  a  thing  is  any  criturion,  I  am  sure  it  ought  to  be 
good,  for  Mr.  Smith  had  to  pay  thirty  dollars  for  it ;  for 
my  part  I  don't  begrudge  the  money,  more  don't  he ;  law 
what's  thirty  dollars  to  him?" 

Thus  she  went  on,  rocking  and  talking,  until  Mrs. 
Squires  who  had  come  in  on  an  errand,  felt  impatient  for 
an  opportunity  to  say  what  she  wished  and  be  gone.  At 
lennfth  she  ventured  during',  a  momentarv  pause  in  Mrs. 
Smith's  volubility  to  take  out  a  paper  and  pencil,  hoping 
thus  to  attract  her  attention. 

The  latter,  however,  was  only  the  more  gratified,  as  she 
took  it  for  granted  that  Mrs.  Squires  intended  copying  the 
family  picture. 

*'  I  heard  you  drawed  beautiful  and  I  like  to  have  folks 
see  the  pictur,  that  knows  how  to  appreciate  it." 

<'The  effect  is  very  striking,"  observed  Mrs.  Squires, 
*'  and  such  a  painting  is  certainly  quite  an  addition  to  a 
room,  but  of  course,  the  greatest  value  of  a  picture  is  the 
faithfulness  with  which  it  preserves  the  likeness  of  a  friend." 

**  Yes,  it's  very  gratifying  to  have  a  real  good  picture." 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  241 

"Time  adds  to  the  value  of  these  little  mementoes,  when 
God  has  taken  our  friends  forever  from  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Squires,  sadly  as  she  placed  her  hand  Instinctively  upon  a 
little  miniature  of  her  own  dear  mother,  who  had  died  but 
recently. 

*'  That's  so,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  "  but  then  fashions 
change  so  fast,  and  I  never  could  endure  an  old-fashioned 
picture,  I've  got  a  paintin'  of  my  mother  for  instance,  it's 
a  real  pretty  face,  but  dear  me,  the  hair  is  stuck  up  so 
high  on  her  head,  and  such  an  old-fashioned  mankiller,  I 
always  keep  it  in  the  back  chamber.  If  Professor  Boggles 
will  just  put  a  new-fashioned  cap  and  Barskeen  on  it,  I 
will  hang  it  In  the  back  parlor,  for  they  say  it's  all  the 
fashion  to  ha,ve  your  parients'  picturs  in  your^  best  rooms 
now." 

Mrs.  Squires  had  always  tried  to  show  the  respect  of 
civility  to  opinions  not  in  harmony  with  her  own  ;  but  fear- 
ing that  she  might  be  tempted  to  violate  her  rule,  if  the 
conversation  continued,  she  determined  to  make  the  ob- 
ject of  her  call  apparent  and  to  terminate  it  as  soon  as 
possible. 

Making  a  courageous  effort  for  this  purpose  she  said, 
"  I  called,  Mrs.  Smith,  to  ask  you  to  contribute  som-Cthing 
toward  getting  new  lamps  for  the  church.  You  know  that 
our  lamps  are  getting  shabby,  and  many  of  them  are 
broken." 

Mrs.  Smith's  countenance  fell,  her  voice  seemed  sud- 
denly to  lose  its  utterance,  her  heart  sank  within  her  and 
her  rocking-chair  which  had  kept  time  by  rapid  or  slow 
vibration  to  the  energetic  or  moderate  demonstrations  of 
its  occupant,  came  to  an  unwonted  stop. 

<«  After  all  she  haint  come  for  a  reglar  call  only  a  beg- 
21 


242  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

ging,  and  I've  a  good  mind  not  to  give  her  a  single  cent," 
thought  Mrs.  Smith,  **  but  then  she'll  see  I  haint  got  no 
money  to  command,"  and  she  continued  aloud.  *'  Oh, 
yes,  certainly,  I'm  glad  somebody  has  got  public  spirrit 
enough  to  attend  to  them  lamps  ;  it's  high  time  somebody 
took  hold,  but  you've  happened  to  ketch  me  at  an  unfor- 
tinate  time.  You  see  I  dismissed  my  drumestic  this  morn- 
ing, quite  onexpected,  and  after  Mr.  Smith  had  gone  to 
the  store,  and  so  I  was  obleeged  to  pay  her  out  of  my 
private  purse,  and  it  pretty  near  cleaned  it  out,  —  and  Mr. 
Smith  not  being  in  you  know,  — I  haint  got  it  replenished. 
But  when  he  comes  home  to  dinner,  I'll  get  a  supply  and 
send  some  round  to  you." 

As  this  speech  was  all  a  falsehood,  it  was  no  wonder 
that  Mrs.  Smith  hesitated  somewhat  in  delivering  it,  and 
Mrs.  Squires,  who  understood  it  to  be  such,  was  disgusted 
as  well  as  amused.  She,  however,  thanked  her  for  the 
promised  aid,  and  handed  her  the  paper,  to  put  down  her 
name  and  the  amount  she  would  give. 

INIrs.  Smith  looked  over  the  names,  and  noticing  that 
two  dollars  was  the  largest  sum  given  by  any  one,  she 
placed  that  amount  opposite  her  own  name  in  very  large 
figures  and  handed  the  paper  back  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

*«I'll  send  it  round  by  my  nurse  girl,  this  afternoon," 
she  said,  as  if  to  impress  upon  Mrs.  Squires  the  fact  that 
she  kept  a  girl  to  take  the  care  of  her  child. 

''  By  the  way,  was  it  your  nurse  girl  who  came  to  the 
door?" 

"  It  was  so." 

"  She  is  a  beautiful  child,  and  very  young,  I  should 
think  to  have  the  care  of  an  infant." 

"  I  cfuess  there  aint  no  damper  of  her  hurting  herself," 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  243 

said  Mrs.  Smith,  somewhat  annoyed  by  the  lady's  expres- 
sion of  interest.  **  She's  a  complete  little  shirk,  I  only 
keep  her  out  of  charity,  they  are  so  awfully  poor." 

' '  Whose  child  Is  she  ?  " 

'*  Well  her  father's  name  was  Elmer,  he  went  to  Cala- 
forny  and  died  there  and  left  his  family  dreadful  destitute." 

*'  Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Squires,  *'  then  she  Is  Susan 
Grant's  child.  I  had  no  idea  they  were  so  reduced. 
Susan  was  a  very  good  girl." 

*'  But  poor  and  proud,  too  proud  to  let  her  sittlwatlon 
be  known,  but  I  happened  to  find  it  out  almost  by  acci- 
dent, and  so  I  took  this  young  one  off  her  hands ;  but  I 
don't  know  whether  I  can  ever  make  anything  of  her  or 
not,  — can't  trust  her  a  minnit  when  I  aint  by  to  watch  her, 
she  spends  half  her  time  a  lookin'  out  the  winder  when  the 
babe's  asleep,  instid  of  sticking  to  her  sewing." 

Mrs.  Squires  made  no  reply,  but  soon  took  her  leave 
with  a  feeling  of  sorrow  for  the  poor  little  child,  which 
Mrs.  Smith's  unkind  words  had  failed  to  diminish,  and  as 
she  continued  her  labors,  the  pale,  sad  face  of  the  little 
girl  arose  often  to  her  recollection,  and  she  determined  to 
do  what  she  could  to  rescue  her  from  a  position  which  she 
felt  must  be  full  of  misery. 


244  MAEY  ELMER,    OB 


CHAPTER   IX. 

N  the  sinking  of  hopes  and  the  rising  of  fears,  which 
the  progress  of  Mrs.  Squires'  call  had  developed, 
Mrs.  Smith's  amiability  had  in  no  way  increased, 
and  as  Mrs.  Squires  had  not  even  invited  her  to 
*  *  return  the  call "  as  she  bade  her  a  coldly  polite  good 
afternoon,  Mrs.  Smith  said  to  herself  *'  I  am  almost  sorry 
I  signed  the  paper  at  all,  but  it's  too  late  now." 

The  baby  had  awaked  during  the  call,  and  little  Mary's 
hands  being  now  literally  "  full,"  Mrs.  Smith  was  com- 
pelled to  prepare  dinner  alone,  but  she  had  only  succeeded 
in  replacing  her  finery  in  the  clothes  press  when  Mr.  Smith 
and  the  children  came  in,  and  the  disorder  and  confusion 
became  more  intolerable  than  ever. 

At  length  dinner  was  placed  on  the  table,  and  when  the 
more  clamorous  demands  of  the  children  were  silenced  as 
Smith  said  by  "letting  their  victuals  stop  their  mouths," 
the  subject  of  Mrs.  Squires'  call  was  mentioned. 

**  I  think  it'shio'h  time  some  of  them  sort  of  folks  bes^un 
to  take  a  little  notice  of  us  ;  we  have  paid  a  big  house  rent 
about  long  enough  for  nothing." 

<'Isha'n't  be  in  any  hurry  to  return  the  call.  I  guess 
I'm  as  good  as  anybody." 

*'  Hadn't  better  be  too  particular ;  it's  to  my  interest  to 
get  in  with  them  sort  of  folks." 

**  Yes,  and  be  dunned  for  a  subscription  every  day  of 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  245 

your  life.  That's  one  thing  she  wanted  this  very  day;  all 
the  upper  crust  are  signing  round  to  get  new  lamps  for  the 
meeting-house,  and  so  she  wanted  to  see  how  much  she 
could  get  away  from  us.  But  she's  a  polite  beggar  I  must 
say,  for  she  didn't  come  right  out  on  the  start ;  but  it's  all 
the  same  if  they  only  get  the  money." 

''  That's  so,  and  it's  very  obliging  to  offer  to  spend 
your  money  for  you,  but  I  hope  you  let  her  see  you  could 
give  as  much  as  any  of  'em  ;  folks  can't  be  popular  without 
its  costing  anything.  I  often  see  men  signing  ever  so 
much  for  foreign  missions  and  such  like  things,  when  I 
know  they  are  distressed  to  death  with  their  grocery  bills  ; 
but  here's  the  money,  and  you  had  better  send  Mary  right 
over  with  it.  You  see  it  won't  be  any  less  for  waiting,  and 
then  it  will  show  her  that  we  are  prompt  and  on  hand 
about  the  matter." 

**  Don't  be  in  such  a  desperate  hurry ;  I  guess  Mary 
can  wash  up  the  dishes  before  she  goes." 

The  meal  was  finished ;  Mary  went  about  her  task, 
baby  was  unusually  quiet  and  amiable,  amusing  himself 
with  some  green  apples  which  had  rolled  on  the  floor  from 
Ferdinand's  pocket,  and  which  he  stoutly  maintained  a 
schoolboy  had  given  him,  while  his  mother  as  firmly  de- 
clared that  they  came  of  her  * '  don't-seek-no-farther  tree 
and  she  knew  they  did." 

Mary  applied  herself  to  her  task  with  renewed  energy. 
There  was  a  calmness  and  determination  in  her  manner 
in  which  one  of  greater  penetration  than  Mrs.  Smith  might 
have  read  a  sense  of  despotism  and  a  disposition  to  resist- 
ance, for  she  had  felt  the  spirit  of  insurrection  rising  in  her 
heart,  which  already  beat  with  accelerated  pulse  at  the 
thought  of  escape  from  thraldom. 
21* 


246  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

But  Mrs.  Smith  only  congratulated  herself  that  Mary 
knew  she  had  got  the  work  to  do,  and  as  she  had  told  her 
**  the  quicker  it  was  done  the  better,"  she  innocently 
thought  Mary  was  fulfilling  her  own  instructions.  Very 
different,  however,  were  the  thoughts  which  occupied  the 
mind  of  our  little  heroine.  <*  It  is  not  right  for  Mrs. 
Smith  to  treat  me  so,  and  if  mamma  knew  about  it  she 
would  not  have  me  stay  here  another  day.  It  will  not  be 
disobeying  her  if  I  go  home,"  and  the  child  was  glad  that 
the  errand  to  Mrs.  Squires  gave  her  an  opportunity  of  get- 
ting started  on  her  way,  and  when,  after  her  bonnet  and 
shawl  were  on  and  she  ready  for  a  start,  Mrs.  Smith  said, 
'^  Now  take  that  money  and  go  straight  to  Squareses, 
and  then  come  straight  home,  and  don't  let  the  grass  grow 
under  your  feet,"  Mary  answered,  with  a  calmness  which 
quite  surprised  her  mistress, 

*<  I  shall  go  and  see  my  mother  first."  Mrs.  Smith 
would  have  forbidden  this  rebellious  act  but  she  remem- 
bered that  the  very  day  before  a  little  boy  had  brought  an 
urgent  request  that  Mary  might  be  allowed  to  come  home 
to  see  her  grandmother. 

Amid  the  contending  thoughts  which  had  occupied  Mrs. 
Smith's  mind  she  had  quite  forgotten  the  request,  and  now 
when  it  arose  to  her  recollection,  instead  of  sending  any 
apology  to  Mrs.  Elmer,  she  only  said, 

'*  Well,  go  along,  gad-about,  you  will  be  a  small  loss 
here ;  after  you  have  got  starved  out,  maybe  you  will  un- 
derstand what  I  am  trying  to  do  for  you ;  but  mind  you 
leave  the  money  to  Squareses,  and  just  tell  her  I  sent  it, 
and  don't  make  a  little  tattler  of  yourself,  for  tattling  is 
awful  mean,  do  ye  hear?" 

Mary  was  soon  started  on  her  journey.     She  was  met 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  247 

at  Mrs.  Squires'  door  by  that  lady,  who  was  now  ready  to 
resume  her  morning's  labors.  She  asked  the  child  pleas- 
antly to  come  In,  but  Mary  was  too  anxious  to  reach  her 
own  home  to  stop  long  on  the  way,  although  the  tidy  sit- 
ting-room looked  very  inviting.  A  great  many  questions 
suggested  themselves  to  the  lady's  mind,  but  she  deter- 
mined not  to  direct  the  child's  attention  to  the  unpleasant- 
ness of  her  present  condition,  until  she  could  decide  on 
some  way  of  improving  it. 

On  learning  that  Mary  was  on  her  way  home,  Mrs. 
Squires  prepared  a  little  basket  of  cakes  and  fruit  for  the 
family,  and  as  she  walked  along  with  her,  learned  what  she 
could  of  them,  and  asked  her  to  call  again  at  her  house. 

**  O  yes,  ma'am,  I  will  come  and  bring  back  the  basket." 

This  was  just  what  Mrs.  Squires  wanted,  although  she 
had  not  mentioned  that  the  basket  was  not  included  in  the 
little  gift,  but  the  child's  bringing  it  back  would,  she  hoped, 
give  her  further  opportunity  of  learning  the  needs  of  her 
old  acquaintance,  and  of  furnishing  to  her  assistance  in  an 
unobtrusive  and  acceptable  manner.  She  felt  greatly  in- 
clined to  go  home  with  the  child  that  very  day,  but  Mrs. 
Squires  was  not  in  the  habit  of  acting  upon  new  impulses, 
and  her  time  had  already  been  appropriated  to  the  church 
business ;  therefore  on  bidding  the  little  girl  good-by,  she 
gave  her  maiden  name  for  her  mother  with  messages  of 
kind  regard,  and  a  promise  to  call  very  soon  to  see  her. 

The  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Squires'  kindness  made  the 
child  continue  her  walk  with  a  quicker  step  and  a  llgliter 
heart.  She  thought  how  pleased  grandma  would  be  with 
a  nice  baked  apple,  and  how  Georgy  would  crow  and 
laugh  over  his  cookey,  and  mamma  would  have  no  excuse 
for  not  taking  one,  as  there  were  enough  to  go  around  she 
was  very  sure. 


248  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

But  as  she  reached  her  home  she  was  greatly  surprised, 
and  wondered  what  was  going  on.  A  bedstead  was  lean- 
ing against  the  end  of  the  house,  while  quilts  and  pillows 
were*  airing  upon  a  clothes-line.  A  boy  was  holding 
some  horses  near  the  gate,  while  two  or  three  grave-look- 
ing men  were  engaged  in  a  quiet  consultation  near  the 
door.  She  had  begun  to  fear  that  mamma  had  got  to 
move  again,  but  felt  reassured  when  David  Gray  spoke 
kindly  to  her,  and  before  she  had  fairly  reached  the  door, 
Johnnie  came  running  out,  saying,  "  Why  did  not  you 
come  last  night,  Mary,  when  we  sent  for  you?  grandma 
was  almost  gone  then,  and  we  all  wished  you  was  here." 

As  Mary  passed  into  the  house,  there  was  not  one  famil- 
iar face  to  greet  her.  A  coffin  covered  with  a  black  pall 
rested  upon  the  table  in  the  front  corner  of  the  room. 
A  small  bouquet  of  violets  stood  on  the  stand  in  an  old- 
fashioned  wine-glass,  while  tw^o  grave-looking  women 
were  engaged  on  a  mourning  dress.  The  little  girl  paused 
a  few  moments  to  gaze  in  silent  reverence  on  that  venera- 
ble face  which,  though  the  animation  of  life  had  forever 
Hed,  yet  seemed  already  touched  with  that  triumphant 
brightness  which  betokens  the  dawn  of  immortality,  she 
pressed  her  lips  silently  to  that  aged  brow,  and  then  as 
quietly  passed  up  stairs  to  her  mother's  room.  Mrs. 
Elmer  was  seated  in  her  accustomed  sewino-chair  beside 
the  little  table,  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  and  although 
he  had  been  asleep  some  time  she  did  not  lay  him  down, 
but  pressed  him  more  closely  to  her  heart  as  she  thought 
how  few  were  left  to  claim  her  love  or  demand  her  care. 

The  little  fellow,  quite  unconscious  of  the  sorrow  which 
had  deprived  him  of  his  usual  lullaby,  had  asked  for  the 
"  shining  star,"  but  his  mamma  could  not  sing  it  for  him 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  249 

to-nio-lit,  indeed  she  could  scarcely  see  beyond  the  cloud 
of  desolation  and  sorrow  which  oppressed  her ;  yet  she 
did  not  despair,  for  in  the  many  trials  of  her- faith,  which 
had  led  her  pathway  through  thorns  and  sorrows,  she  still 
cherished  that  "  hope  "  which  is  "the  companion  given 
the  unfortunate  by  pitying  Heaven,"  and  her  trusting  heart 
always  found  some  object  for  gratitude  or  praise.  And 
even  now,  she  was  grateful  that  she  had  been  able  to 
make  her  mother's  last  days  comfortable ;  and  that  as  her 
willing  spirit  had  bent  aiFectionately  to  her  filial  task,  it 
had  not  been  hindered  by  the  weakness  of  the  flesh. 

She  wondered  if  she  could  have  done  anything  more  for 
her  mother  during  the  long,  weary  illness,  and  then  she 
looked  hopefully  to  that  blessed  place  of  rest,  where  trials 
and  changes  come  no  more. 

Mrs.  Elmer  clasped  her  daughter's  hand  with  a  faint 
smile  of  welcome,  and  held  it  long  in  silence  ;  and  though 
few  words  were  spoken,  each  felt  how  strong  was  the  bond 
of  affection  and  sympathy  which  united  them. 

Little  Johnnie  soon  came  bringing  up  the  little  basket 
of  apples. 

"  Aint  these  real  beauties?  "  said  he,  as  he  selected  the 
fairest  for  his  mother.  '*  And  just  see  what  lots  of 
cakes." 

*'  Put  them  on  a  plate,  Johnnie,  and  offer  some  to  the 
ladies  down  stairs,"  said  Mrs.  Elmer. 

Johnnie  hastened  to  obey  the  instructions,  and  soon  re- 
turned saying,  '*  Oh,  there's  the  funniest-looking  girl 
down-stairs,  and  she  wants  to  see  you,  to  tell  you  about 
Mary,  she  said." 

«'  I  think  it's  Jerusha,"  said  Mary,  starting  quickly  to 
meet  her  faithful  friend. 


250  MART  ELMER,    OR 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  enthusiasm  of  the  meet- 
ing between  the  two  girls,  out  of  that  house  of  bondage, 
in  other  circumstances,  there  was  none  now. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  got  away  from  there,"  said  Jerusha. 
**  You  see  I  did  not  know  you  had  come,  and  so  I  thought 
I  would  stop  and  tell  your  mother  about  matters  and 
things.  I've  been  to  Mrs.  Lee's,  and  the  colored  rtkm 
says  she  is  expected  home  to-night,  but  I  must  hurry 
along,  for  I  have  hired  to  the  Eagle  Tavern  for  a  fort- 
night; so  good-by,  Mary,"  and  the  poor  homeless  crea- 
ture started  back  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  her  new  ensraofe- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Maddock,  who  had  been  very  much  occupied  in 
assisting  to  prepare  Mrs.  Grant  for  her  last  repose,  had 
gone  to  her  own  rooms  to  discharge  the  domestic 
duties  of  her  household ;  but  as  soon  as  she  learned  that 
Mary  had  come,  she  came  in  with  Martha  and  Ann,  to 
welcome  her  home  ajjain. 

The  funeral  vras  appointed  for  the  next  afternoon,  and 
passed  off  so  quietly,  that  many  living  very  near,  and  in 
the  same  street,  had  not  even  heard  of  a  death  in  the 
neighborhood.  Mrs.  Lee  had  not  been  able  to  reach  her 
home  as  soon  as  she  had  anticipated,  and  arrived  only  at 
the  hour  appointed  for  the  funeral. 

Mrs.  Squires  had  heard  of  it  through  the  clergyman, 
of  whom  she  had  made  inquiries  after  the  family,  and  had 
taken  some  pains  to  inform  those  whom  she  thought  might 
remember  Susan  Grant  and  her  mother  in  better  days. 

Still  it  was  only  a  small,  quiet  funeral.  Mrs.  Lee  had 
kindly  sent  her  carriage  and  some  money  for  the  sexton's 
fee ;  although  too  much  overcome  by  her  journey  and 
grief  at  the  loss  of  her  only  sister,  to  leave  her  own  room. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  251 

David  Grey  had  engaged  the  hearse  and  the  bearers,  and 
his  own  wagon  with  the  carriages  of  Mrs.  Lee  and  Mrs. 
Squires,  formed  the  little  procession.  Yet  in  her  heart, 
Susan  Elmer  was  thankful  to  give  her  mother  so  respect- 
able a  burial ;  and  when  the  poor  old  woman  had  been  so 
feeble,  and  helpless,  and  troublesome,  that  some  had  said, 
''It  was  strange  God's  providence  did  not  remove  her," 
the  devoted  daughter  had  toiled,  and  waited,  and  prayed, 
that  her  mother's  life  might  be  spared  until  something 
should  occur  to  enable  her  to  show  her  mother  the  respect 
of  a  proper  sepulture  ;  and  her  trials  had  never  yet  found 
the  limit  of  her  faith  and  patience  ;  for  even  when  the 
aged  mother's  words  had  become  almost  inarticulate,  their 
last  utterances  were  of  hope  and  encouragement,  and  she 
had  even  tried  to  join  in  the  chorus  of  the  shining  star, 
when  her  faculties  showed  many  sad  symptoms  of  decay- 
ing nature. 

When  the  few  who  had  come  to  attend  the  funeral  had 
again  dispersed,  and  the  little  family  were  once  more 
alone,  Susan's  mind  wandered  to  the  little  band  in  Para- 
dise. That  beautiful  portion  of  Psalms,  which  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Bingham  had  chosen  as  the  text  for  his  hopeful  dis- 
course on  the  resurrection  of  the  just,  came  again  and 
again  to  her  mind,  with  new  significance,  as  she  repeated, 
*'  My  heart  and  my  flesh  faileth,  but  God  is  the  strength 
of  my  heart,  and  my  portion  forever."  And  as  she  re- 
membered how  her  mother  had  by  faith  and  prayer,  and 
works  of  charity  and  love,  made  God  her  portion  on 
earth,  she  trusted  that  he  would  now  strengthen  and  re- 
store the  weak  spirit,  so  long  bowed  by  the  infirmities  of 
the  flesh.     Then  she  thought  of  her  dear  father,  who  had 


252  MAEY  ELMER,    OR 

long  ago  passed  from  the  earth,  and  how  blest  and  happy 
they  would  be  to  be  separated  no  more  forever. 

And  in  the  midst  of  her  loneliness  and  sorrow  came  a 
gleam  of  joy,  that  those  who  are  united  on  earth,  in  that 
holy  bond  which  God  has  blest,  can  be  separated  only  by 
Death,  and  that  even  his  power  is  but  temporary. 

Then  she  tried  to  think  George  would  be  there,  but  her 
thoughts  of  him  were  so  much  associated  with  their  last 
parting,  when  he  had  declared  that  he  should  be  back 
again  all  right  in  a  year  or  so,  that  she  involuntarily  ex- 
claimed, '*  What  if  George  should  come  back  just  as  he 
said,  alive  and  well,  and  rich  ! " 

She  had  never  set  her  heart  upon  riches,  even  when  her 
husband's  prospects  for  success  had  seemed  fairest,  and 
she  had  watched  with  solicitude  his  disappointment  and  de- 
pression at  the  failure  of  his  cherished  plans,  while  her 
heart  turned  more  and  more  to  the  treasures  which  are 
incorruptible  and  fade  not  away.  She  had  often  made 
the  humble  prayer  of  Agar  her  own,  and  though  pov- 
erty and  sickness  had  been  suffered  to  remain  very  near 
her,  she  had  never  denied  her  Lord  or  been  tempted  to 
steal,  and  take  the  name  of  her  God  in  vain. 

The  children  nestled  more  closely  beside  their  mother, 
as  the  shades  of  evening  closed  around ;  and  as  the  little 
group  united  in  the  supplicating  petitions  of,  "  Our 
Father  who  art  in  heaven,"  Susan's  heart  found  a  new 
cause  for  gratitude,  that  little  Mary's  voice  again  mingled 
with  the  rest.  The  little  ones  were  soon  lost  in  the  calm 
sleep  of  infancy  ;  but  Susan  Elmer  was  unusually  wakeful 
that  night,  and  her  mind  still  turned  to  those  she  had 
loved  and  lost ;  and  rememberinsj  how  her  mother  liad  en- 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  253 

couraged  Mary's  prayers  for  her  father,  even  wlien  Smith 
had  declared  huii  to  be  dead,  her  last  waking  thoughts 
were  a  prayer  ''  that  God  would  be  with  and  protect  them 
till  the  great  day  of  his  final  coming." 


CHAPTER  X. 


HE  cares,  the  fatigues,  and  anxieties  of  the  last 
few  weeks,  had  worn  upon  Mrs.  Elmer  more 
than  she  had  been  aware  of,  and  she  slept  much 
later  than  usual  the  next  morning,  and  when  she 
arose  and  tried  to  discharge  her  household  duties,  a 
strange  and  ill-defined  presence  seemed  to  linger  about, 
her.  A  something  which  she  could  neither  throw  off*  nor 
account  for,  and  when  in  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Maddock 
came  in  with  her  sewing  to  beguile  the  loneliness,  she  ven- 
tured to  tell  her  of  a  strange  dream  which  had  often  vis- 
ited her  pillow.  She  had  spoken  of  it  once,  she  said,  to 
her  mother,  but  as  neither  of  them  were  superstitious  be- 
lievers in  signs  and  omens,  the  subject  had  soon  been 
dismissed  from  their  conversation  ;  but  now  as  it  had  again 
returned  to  her,  she  confessed  she  could  not  wholly  dispel 
Its  influence  from  her  mind,  nor  could  she  wantonly  stifle 
the  faint  hope  born  of  that  dream,  even  though  it  pos- 
sessed no  apparent  foundation  In  probability ;  and  she  felt 
inclined  to  relate  to  Mrs.  Maddock,  «' That  she  had  so 
many  times  dreamed  of  seeing  her  husband,  always  In  a 
22 


254  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

strange  place,  and  sometimes  sick  and  in  bed,  and  some- 
times engaged  in  one  or  another  of  the  occupations  which 
he  had  followed  before  leaving  home  ;  and  that  on  every 
occasion  he  had  failed  to  recognize  her,  or  only  spoken 
with  the  indifference  of  a  stranger." 

*'  That  dream  is  as  plain  as  day  to  me,"  replied  Mrs. 
Maddock,  "you  may  mark  my  word  for  it,  George  Elmer  is 
not  dead.  I  don't  believe  in  witcheries  and  superstitions, 
my  mother  did  not  before  me ;  but  my  mother  believed  in 
some  dreams,  and  so  do  I.  Don't  you  remember  Scripture 
tells  us  that  Daniel  had  understanding  in  all  visions  and 
dreams?  and  don't  you  know  how  Joseph  interpreted 
Pharaoh's  dreams  ? 

"  If  you  had  dreamed  of  seeing  him  here,  I  should  say 
it  was  only  natural,  and  could  be  accounted  for  on  the 
ground  of  your  thinking  about  him  so  much ;  but  your 
dreaming  that  way  so  many  times,  of  seeing  him  in  a 
strange  place,  makes  me  think  he  aint  dead. 

''  But,  Susan,  what  proof  did  you  ever  have  that  he  was 
dead  ?  who  told  you  he  w^as  ?  " 

'*  I  never  heard  anything  about  it  from  any  one  but 
Smith,"  replied  Susan. 

"What,  Jonathan  Smith  the  shoemaker!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Maddock  in  evident  astonishment,  *'  I  don't  mean  to 
say  that  it  necessarily  ruins  a  man's  veracity  to  make  shoes 
for  a  living,'  but  mercy  on  us  !  I  should  sooner  think  of 
believing  a  dream,  tlian  of  taking  his  word  any  time.  I 
should  not  be  a  bit  surprised  if  you  heard  from  George 
right  off. 

"  My  Uncle  William  Barber  went  to  the  Patriot  war, 
and  was  gone  for  years  and  years,  everybody  gave  him  up 
for  dead;  but  Aunt  Lavina   always  said  he  would  couio 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  255 

back,  she  knew  it  just  by  a  dream  ;  and  sure  enough  he 
did  come  back,  after  serving  ten  years  at  Yan  Dieraan's 
Land.  Every  body  was  as  much  astonished  as  if  one  had 
arose  from  the  dead,  except  Aunt  Lavina  ;  she  went  round 
smiling  and  smoothing  out  her  cap-strings  and  saying,  '  I 
told  you  so  !  '  I  don't  want  to  raise  any  expectations  that 
aint  to  be  realized,  but  you  may  depend  upon  it,  George 
Elmer  is  alive." 

Martha  and  Ann  Maddock  came  in  during  the  evening, 
and  each  expressed  satisfaction  and  pleasure  that  Mary  was 
safe  home  again.  "  I  hope  you  will  never  have  her  go 
back  again,"  said  Martha,  '*  if  I  had  known  how  shabbily 
she  was  treated,  I'm  sure  I  would  have  gone  after  her  my- 
self." 

<'  I  should  be  very  glad  to  keep  the  children  together," 
replied  Mrs.  Elmer,  "  but  everything  is  so  dear  in  the 
market,  and  we  have  not  any  garden  you  know." 

"  But,"  continued  Martha,  '*  it  won't  take  a  single  hod 
more  of  coal  if  she  stays  at  home,  than  if  she  goes,  and  as 
for  vegetables,  we  always  get  our  winter  supply  of  Uncle 
James  ;  and  I  know  mother  will  engage  some  from  him  for 
you.  We  do  all  the  sewing  for  him  and  the  boys,  and  of 
course  it  don't  come  so  high  as  if  they  went  to  the  shop 
with  their  work,  and  then  they  bring  us  good  measure  of 
apples  and  vegetables." 

It  was  all  satisfactorily  arranged.  Ann  suggested  that 
Mary  could  sometimes  go  down  to  the  village  for  thread 
and  needles  for  them,  besides  holding  the  skeins  of  silk, 
and  both  the  girls  felt  a  gratification  in  trying  to  make 
amends  for  their  former  hastiness  to  the  child. 

As  the  fall  sewing  came  in,  and  the  hope  of  keeping  her 
little    family    together. and  supporting    them    comfortably 


256  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

seemed  about  to  be  realized,  Susan  applied  herself  to  her 
daily  tasks  with  renewed  energy  ;  and  as  Mrs.  Maddock 
and  her  daughters,  by  their  continued  kindness,  did  all  they 
could  to  diminish  Mrs.  Elmer's  sense  of  obligation,  a  feel- 
ing of  cheerful  contentment,  almost  akin  to  happiness,  once 
more  stole  over  her. 

True  their  daily  needs  required  her  constant  labor  ;  their 
clothing  was  of  the  plainest  material,  and  their  table  offered 
none  of  those  delicacies  which  are  counted  by  so  many  as 
necessaries.  There  w^ere  few  to  sympathize  with  her  lone- 
liness, and  she  might  have  been  less  happy  had  not  neces- 
sity compelled  her  to  be  always  caring  for  the  comfort  of 
those  dependent  upon  her. 

It  had  been  many  months  since  Susan  had  thought  of 
rest  or  recreation  ;  but  one  bright  Saturday  afternoon  in 
October,  her  work  for  the  week  being  completed,  Susan 
proposed  to  the  children  a  walk  to  the  village  graveyard, 
and  a  visit  to  grandma's  grave. 

The  little  ones  were  greatly  delighted  with  the  plan,  and 
were  soon  ready  for  a  start.  Georgie  was  carefully  tucked 
up  in  Mrs.  Maddock's  little  wagon,  and  Johnnie  and  Mary 
volunteered  to  draw  him  all  the  way,  but  they  began  to 
show  signs  of  weariness  before  reaching  the  top  of  the  hill 
where  the  burial  ground  was  situated,  and  as  their  mamma 
relieved  them  from  the  task,  they  soon  began  amusing 
themselves  by  gathering  the  bright  autumn  leaves  now 
gently  falling  upon  the  shaded  pathway. 

As  the  little  party  stopped  to  rest  before  climbing  the 
rustic  stile,  Mary  wove  the  leaves  into  bright  wreaths,  after 
patterns  which  Jerusha  had  taught  her,  while  their  mother 
smiled  approvingly  at  their  quiet  enjoyment,  as  Mary 
placed  one  of  the  wreaths  on  little  Gfiorgie's  head. 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  257 

They  soon  entered  the  yard ;  and  the  children  were 
silenced  by  that  feeling  of  awe  and  reverence  for  the  dead 
which  nature  has  implanted  in  the  heart  of  childhood,  and 
which  seems  to  survive  only  in  proportion  as  its  innocence 
is  preserved. 

Mary  walked  beside  her  mother,  while  Johnnie  went 
before  them,  gazing  in  silence  at  the  bright  autumn  flowers, 
or  the  tall  monuments,  on  which  his  eye  rested  until  they 
paused  beside  the  new-made  grave,  where  Johnnie  was 
first  to  speak,  as  he  asked  "  if  grandma  knew  they  had 
come  to  visit  her?"  While  Mrs.  Elmer  was  trying  to 
think  of  some  answer  to  the  question,  Mary  said  quickly,  — 

'*  Maybe  her  spirit  knows  it  up  in  heaven,  if  her  body 
don't  know  it  here.     Keep  still,  Johnnie. !  " 

As  Susan  Elmer  stood  beside  the  grave  of  her  mother,  she 
wished  that  she  might  place  upon  it  some  memorial  worthy 
a  spot  made  sacred  by  her  last  repose.  Then,  recollecting 
the  little  bright-eyed  violets  which  grew  in  Mrs.  Maddock's 
yard,  and  her  mother's  fondness  for  them,  she  resolved  to 
cover  the  mound  with  these  humble  flowers.  There  seemed 
to  be  an  appropriateness  in  placing  there  those  humble 
wayside  blossoms  which  survive  so  many  of  Spring's  earlier 
flowers,  and  Susan  dwelt  with  pleasure  on  her  little  plan. 

As  they  were  preparing  to  leave  the  ground,  Mary 
stopped  to  repair  the  little  wreath^  which  had  come  apart 
with  Georgie's  rough  handling,  and  placed  it  upon  the 
grave. 

"I'm  afraid  the  wind  will  blow  it  ofl*,"  said  Johnnie,  and 
he  stepped  back  toward   the  stile   where  he  had  noticed 
some  short  pieces  of  painted  slats  lying  on  the  grass  beside 
a  new  inclosure. 
22* 


258  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

*'  Will  any  one  care  if  I  take  these?  "  he  said,  handing 
them  to  his  mother. 

*'  I  think  not,  my  dear,"  she  answered,  and  placing  the 
two  pieces  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  she  laid  them  upon  the 
little  wreath. 

The  effect  of  that  bright  golden  wreath  lying  upon  the 
rich,  deep  green  grass  and  surmounted  by  the  little  white 
cross,  was  very  beautiful ;  to  a  practised  artist  it  might 
have  suggested  the  illuminated  paintings  of  the  early 
masters,  but  Susan's  natural  taste  for  beautiful  things  had 
never  been  heightened  by  artistic  cultivation,  and  as  she 
looked  admiringly  upon  it,  her  greatest  pleasure  was  thait 
she  could  leave  some  token  of  remembrance  upon  the 
grave  of  her  earliest  and  most  valued  friend. 

While  they  were  passing  out  of  the  yard,  Mary  and 
Johnnie  exclaimed  together,  "  Aint  that  pretty  ?  "  pointing 
toward  a  bright  little  bed  of  immortelles,  bordered  with 
pansies.  Mrs.  Elmer  read  the  plain  inscription  and  was 
pleased  to  find  there  the  name  and  age  of  Dr.  Lee,  with 
the  simple  verse, 

"  He  is  not  here,  but  precious  is  the  dust 

Which  once  enshrined  the  object  of  our  love ; 
He  is  not  here,  but  fondly  do  we  trust 
To  meet  him  in  a  brighter  world  above." 

There  was  something  about  that  little  gray  Italian  shaft 
and  those  unpretending  flowers  which  would  have  pleased 
Mrs.  Elmer,  had  she  known  nothing  of  her  whose  taste 
had  marked  the  spot  or  of  him  whose  memory  w^as  here  so 
tenderly  cherished ;  and  Susan  thought  while  looking  at 
these  memorials,  of  the  many  kindnesses  of  her  friend  and 
felt  a  degree  of  self-reproach  that  she  had  never  been  to 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  259 

call  upon  Mrs.  Lee  since  that  lady's  return  from  the  East. 
True  the  time  had  been  more  than  occupied  with  care  and 
labor,  but  there  was  also  another  reason,  which  she 
scarcely  recognized  as  such,  and  It  was  that  feeling  of  hesi- 
tation which  any  person  of  true  refinement  has  at  the 
thought  of  calling  as  a  friend  upon  one  whose  worldly 
position  is  so  much  above  her  own  as  was  that  of  Mrs. 
Lee  and  toward  whom  she  could  but  feel  an  embarrassing 
sense  of  obligation. 

Then,  conscious  that  the  neglect  might  have  the  appear- 
ance of  indifference  or  ingratitude,  she  resolved  to  seek  an 
early  opportunity  to  express  in  person  the  grateful  regard 
which  she  had  heretofore  sent  by  Peter  Jackson. 

Presently  Johnnie  discovered  a  carriage  driving  Into  the 
yard,  and  Mary  soon  espied  the  ebony  face  of  Peter  Jack- 
son, who  was  already  showing  his  teeth  in  answer  to  her 
fiigns  of  recognition.  And,  strange  to  say,  there  was 
Jerusha,  too,  sitting  beside  Mrs.  Lee  in  the  carriage  as  if 
to  support  her,  for  this  was  Mrs.  Lee's  first  ride  since  her 
illness. 

They  came  directly  to  the  little  inclosure,  and  Jerusha 
assisted  Mrs.  Lee  to  alight  from  the  carriage,  when  the 
latter  approached  Mrs.  Elmer  and  by  a  gentle  pressure  of 
the  hand,  and  a  quiet  smile  of  welcome,  expressed  the 
pleasure  which  the  unlooked-for  meeting  gave  her. 

Jerusha  and  Mary  were  more  demonstrative  In  their 
recognition ,  and  Mrs.  Lee  declared  the  ride  had  benefited 
her  so  much  she  would  remain  there  while  Peter  and 
Jerusha  took  the  children  a  little  drive  around  the  ground. 
The  carriage  soon  rolled  away,  and  Mrs.  Lee  invited  Susan 
to  a  seat  beside  her  in  the  little  yard,  and  as  they  sat  there 
alone  with  the  dead,  each  felt  bound  to  the  other  by  the 


2 GO  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

tender  ties  of   friendship   and    sympathy   as    well   as   the 
strong  bond  of  benevolence  and  gratitude. 

Mrs.  Elmer  soon  spoke  to  Mrs.  Lee  of  Johnnie's  hard 
question  and  Mary's  ready  answer  and  asked  what  she 
thought  about  the  subject. 

'  *  I'm  afraid  we  shall  never  have  much  definite  knowl- 
edge about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  **  it  is  a  subject  on  which 
I  often  talked  with  Dr.  Lee,  and  I  recollect  he  once  said, 
there  seemed  nothing  unconnected  with  revelation  which 
was  so  little  known  and  yet  so  generally  believed.  We 
are  told  that  the  Druids,  before  Christianity  was  introduced 
into  Britain,  believed  that  the  beatified  soul  retained  the 
love  of  its  country  and  its  kind,  and  sometimes  returned 
to  the  earth  to  assist  the  brethren  by  teaching  them 
heavenly  things,  and  to  oppose  the  power  of  the  Evil  One. 
In  later  times  many  theologians  have  maintained  that  it 
is  this  mingling  of  the  prayers  and  praises  of  the  departed 
with  those  of  the  living  which  forms  '  the  communion  of 
the  Saints,'  one  article  of  the  Apostles'  Creed. 

"  In  our  own  times,  among  the  number  of  persons  called 
spiritualists,  a  favorite  theory  is,  that  the  souls  of  the  de- 
parted are  very  near  and  not  only  take  an  interest  in  the 
fortunes  of  their  friends  on  earth,  but  are  anxious  to  find 
means  of  communicating  that  interest.  While  some  of 
a  still  less  cultivated  class  believe  in  ghosts  and  "super- 
natural apparitions." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Lee,  will  you  please  give  me  your  own  ideas 
about  it,  if  you  will  not  think  me  rude.  What  do  you 
think  about  it?" 

Mrs.  Lee  was  never  anxious  to  express  her  own  ideas, 
but  she  now  ventured  to  say  that  to  her  it  seemed,  **  that 
as  far  as  human  love  was  unmixed  with  human  passion,  it 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  261 

mio'ht  survive  the  death  of  the  body,  and  if  friendship  and 
affection  be  founded  on  piety  and  virtue,  and  have  its  seat 
in  the  soul,  it  need  not  terminate  with  the  existence  of  our 
material  part. 

*^  One  whose  judgment  we  are  bound  to  respect  has  said, 
*  When  our  souls  are  placed  in'  Paradise,  the.  cares  and 
secular  employments  of  time  shall  cease,  and  our  employ- 
ments shall  be  symbolical,  spiritual,  holy,  and  pleasant.' 
The  nature  of  this  subject  does  not  admit  of  its  being 
made  very  plain  to  the  senses,  and  as  not  much  knowledge 
is  given  it  is  not  probable  much  will  be  required,  and  we 
might,  perhaps,  better  bestow  our  thoughts  on  subjects 
more  directly  connected  with  duty  here,  and  with  salvation 
hereafter." 

Peter  Jackson  had  now  returned  with  Jerusha  and  the 
children,  and  at  Mrs.  Lee's  request  Mary  was  permitted  to 
return  home  with  her,  while  Master  Johnnie,  with  an  in- 
creased sense  of  importance,  assisted  his  mother  in  drawing 
Georgie  home. 

Little  Mary  could  scarce  express  the  delight  she  felt  in 
being  once  more  in  the  well-remembered  places,  and  after 
looking  about  the  house  awhile  she  said,  *' There's  that 
dear  little  chair  just  where  it  was  before,  and  there  is  that 
pretty  picture,  but  where  is  Harriet  ?  " 

*'  Harriet  is  married,  and  she  does  not  live  here  any 
more,"  replied  Mrs.  Lee. 

**  But  where  does  she  live  now?"  asked  Mary. 

<'  In  the. country  near  her  friends,"  &aid  Mrs.  Lee. 

"  Well  I'm  glad  I  know  where  she  is.  Mamma  and  I 
have  often  wondered  what  had  become  of  Harriet,  no  one 
told  us  anything  about  her,  and  we  thought  that  she  had 
gone  with  you." 


262  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

*<  Have  you  never  seen  Harriet  since  I  went  away  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Lee,  with  evident  surprise  as  she  recollected  the 
unheard- from  note  entrusted  to  Harriet's  care. 

"  No, ma'am,  we  never  saw  her  after  you  went  away, 
and  we  did  not  know  where  you  were  gone  In  a  long  time, 
then  Peter  Jackson  told  us,  and  we  were  very  sorry  your 
sister  was  so  sick,  and  we  missed  you  a  great  deal  all  the 
time." 

The  child  had  scarcely  done  speaking  when  Mrs.  Lee 
turned  again  to  Harriet's  letter,  in  which  she  had  said,  '*  I 
forwarded  your  note  to  Mrs.  Elmer,  before  I  left  town, 
and  I  presume  you  have  heard  from  it  before  this  time." 
Mrs.  Lee's  first  thought  was  to  write  for  further  explanation, 
for  she  had  many  times  wondered  at  the  strange  silence ; 
then  remembering  Harriet's  subsequent  intention  of  visit- 
ino:  her  soon,  she  determined  to  wait  Harriet's  intended 
visit  for  the  desired  information.  And  as  she  did  not 
know  Harriet's  present  address,  this  seemed  the  only  way 
practicable. 

Just  before  little  Mary  started  for  home,  Mrs.  Lee  told 
her  of  a  little  school  which  had  recently  opened  near  her 
house,  and  instructed  the  child  to  ask  her  mother's  permis- 
sion to  attend  it,  kindly  inviting  her  to  come  there  every 
day  for  dinner,  and  carefully  Informing  her  that  she  would 
provide  for  the  tuition  and  the  necessary  books ;  and  the 
little  girl  returned   home  full  of  enthusiasm  over  the  plan. 

The  brightness  of  that  October  day,  the  enjoyment  of  the 
children,  and  the  unexpected  pleasure  of  Mrs.  Lee's  visit, 
had  seemed  to  inspire  Susan  with  new  life,  to  which  the 
thought  of  sending  the  little  girl  to  school,  brought  addi- 
tional pleasure.  She  had  often  wished  that  Mary  might 
have  such  advantages,  but  circumstances   had   heretofore 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  2(33 

geemed  to  forbid,  and  she  therefore  set  about  making  phans 
for  the  improvement  of  the  child's  wardrobe,  which  had 
been  in  no  way  improved  by  her  stay  at  the  Smiths. 

Her  motherly  affection  was  stimulated  perhaps,  by  wom- 
anly ambition,  and  long  after  the  little  ones  were  asleep 
she  grew  more  and  more  wakeful  in  planning  for  the  new 
enterprise,  and  she  resolved  to  rise  an  hour  earlier  every 
morning,  for  the  purpose  of  preparing  Mary  for  school. 
But  on  awaking  the  next  morning,  she  felt  a  dull,  uncom- 
fortable sensation  in  the  head,  her  arms  ached  so  that  she 
could  scarcely  use  them  at  all,  and  she  was  compelled  to 
return  to  her  bed  as  soon  as  the  morning  meal  was  finished. 
Mary  succeeded  in  putting  the  room  in  order,  and  brought 
into  practice  all  her  little  skill  in  nursing  her  mother ;  but 
spite  of  her  efforts  Susan  Elmer  grew  rapidly  worse,  and 
the  child  went  to  call  Mrs.  Maddock's  assistance. 

The  ffood  woman  soon  answered  the  summons,  and  was 
grieved  and  surprised  to  find  Susan  suffering  from  a  vio- 
lent attack  of  fever.  After  bathing  Susan's  head  and 
applying  such  simple  remedies  as  were  at  hand,  Mrs.  Mad- 
dock  said,  *'  I'm  sure  when  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  aint 
a  bit  surprised,  in  fact  I've  expected  to  see  you  break 
down  every  day.  No  live  woman  could  endure  it  to  be 
shut  up  as  you  have  been  so  long,  and  working  early  and 
late,  it's  a  wonder  you  did  not  have  to  give  up  before. 
You  need  rest  and  good  nursing  up,  but  you  must  not 
expect  to  be  well  in  a  day." 

''  Will  my  mar  ever  get  well  again?"  interposed  Mary, 
timidly  ;  for  she  had  been  frightened  before  calling  Mrs. 
Maddock,  whose  energetic  manner  did  not  tend  to  dimin- 
ish her  alarm. 

"  O  yes,  I  hope  so,  but  we  must  take  good  care  of  her ;  " 


264  MARY  ELMER,    GR 

and  turning  again  to  Susan,  she  said,  **  I'd  go  for  a  doc- 
tor right  off,  but  the  doctors  kill  more  than  they  cure;  and 
you  haven't  any  money  to  waste  on  them." 

Mrs.  Maddock  again  volunteered  her  own  services,  and 
Susan  thanked  her  cordially,  when  Mrs.  Maddock  returned 
to  her  own  room. 

In  the  midst  of  her  own  pain  Susan  noticed  the  expres- 
sion of  sorrow  and  anxiety  upon  her  child's  face,  and  she 
said, 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  my  dear ;  I  hope  I  shall  feel  bet- 
ter again  when  the  fever  goes  off:  and  remember,  Mary, 
whatever  happens,  it  will  only  make  everything  worse  to 
be  sad  and  discouraged." 

Then  the  child  tried  harder  to  summon  her  courage,  and 
to  put  in  practice  those  lessons  of  faith  and  patience  of 
which  her  mother's  life  had  been  a  constant  lesson,  both 
in  example  and  in  precept.  It  was  well  for  the  child  that 
she  had  learned  the  lesson  thus  early. 

Mrs.   Maddock's  fears  were  realized  sooner  than  Mrs. 
Elmer's  hopes,  for  Susan  suffered   long  without  any  signs" 
of  improvement.     Now  that  their  only  means  of  subsistence 
were  cut  off  by  the  mother's  illness,  the  little  nurse's  task 
seemed  weary  and  almost  hopeless. 

When  Martha  and  Ann  Maddock  first  heard  of  Mrs. 
Elmer's  sickness  they  expressed  a  degree  of  sympathy  and 
interest  in  the  poor  woman's  misfortune  quite  consistent 
with  their  late  friendly  conduct  toward  her ;  but  after  a 
few  days  they  began  to  express  a  degree  of  surprise  that 
no  one  came  to  assist  in  the  care  of  her ;  and  a  slight  im- 
patience manifested  itself  in  the  oft-repeated  wonder  why 
none  of  the  church  members  came  near  ;  for  they  were  not 
such  faultless  young  ladies  as  we  meet  with  in  stories,  but 
such  human  ones  as  are  met  in  actual  life. 


Deacon  Gorhara  has  "an  oncommon'  polite  reception  from  President 
Martin  Yan  Biiren."— /See  ^age  377. 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  265 

Mrs.  Maddock  suggested  that  like  enough  none  of  them 
knew  anything  about  Mrs.  Elmer's  sickness. 

'<  Then,"  said  Ann,  *'  I'll  make  it  my  business  to  inform 
them.  I  think  what  with  the  *  Aid  Society '  and  the 
*  Home  Mission,'  that  it  is  a  pretty  piece  of  work  to  let  a 
woman  like  her  suffer  from  neglect,  or  else  be  a  direct  tax 
upon  us  for  board,  and  rent,  and  everything." 

Mrs.  Maddock  made  no  objection  to  the  plan,  and  Ann 
started  out  that  very  afternoon.  She  met  Mrs.  Squires  on 
her  way  to  the  Aid  Society,  and  soon  made  known  to  her 
the  condition  of  the  Elmer  family,  which  seemed  almost 
incredible  to  Mrs.  Squires,  for  it  was  only  a  few  days  since 
she  had  heard  from  Miss  Ludlow  that  Mrs.  Lee  had  re- 
turned, and  had  taken  the  Elmers  under  her  especial 
charge  again.  Miss  Ludlow  declared  she  had  seen  Mary 
Elmer  in  Mrs.  Lee's  carriage,  and  expressed  a  degree  of 
anxiety  for  fear  the  family  in  general  and  that  child  in  par- 
ticular, would  be  spoiled  by  being  taken  too  much  notice 
of. 

Mrs.  Squires,  however,  made  it  in  her  way  to  give  them  a 
short  call  before  going  to  the  Aid  Society,  and  determined 
to  bring  the  case  before  them  at  that  very  meeting. 

Ann  Maddock  continued  her  way  to  Mrs.  Lee's,  where 
both  Mrs.  Lee  and  Jerusha.  had  been  wondering  at  the 
non-appearance  of  Mary,  and  had  begun  to  fear  some  ill- 
ness to  the  child  had  prevented  her  from  coming  to  school. 
Jerusha  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of  running  out  eve- 
nings, and  Mrs.  Lee  had  been  very  much  occupied  with 
the  fall  house-cleaning,  and  instructing  a  new  girl,  for 
Jerusha  had  only  been  with  her  a  short  time.  Mrs.  Elmer 
had  seemed  so  bright  and  happy  at  their  last  interview  that 
Mrs.  Lee  was  grieved  and  surprised  to  find  that  she  wa^ 
23  " 


266  .        MARY  EL3IER,    OR 

now  suffering  not  only  the  pains  of  illness,  but  for  the  want 
of  those  necessaries  which  that  sickness  had  rendered  her 
unable  to  procure.  She  sent  to  Mrs.  Elmer  many  expres- 
sions of  sympathy  and  regret,  and  that  very  evening  rode 
over  with  Peter  Jackson  to  carry  to  her  friends  the  more 
substantial  tokens  of  her  regard. 


CHAPTER  XL 

ITH  the  return  of  the  cool  autumn  evenings  there 
came  back  to  our  busy  town  many  who  had  been 
seekinof  for  health  or  recreation  at  the  various 
watering-places.  The  spirit  of  locomotion  which 
had  led  so  many  from  home,  now  seemed  to  .keep  them 
active,  and  every  local  enterprise  revived  into  a  new 
life.  The  churches  were  better  filled  on  the  Sabbath,  and 
many  a  stylish  outfit  which  had  lost  its  first  lustre  at  "  The 
Springs,"  now  aroused  bitter  heart-burnings  among  those 
who  had  perforce  remained  at  home. 

Miss  Eunice  Ludlow  had  also  returned,  for  she  too  had 
been  "  spending  some  time  at  the  Springs."  The  family 
alone  knew  the  whys  and  the  hows  of  the  all  important 
though  unusual  event.  A  relative  who  lived  at  Saratoga 
in  a  style  which  in  more  modern  days  would  have  been 
called  "  Shoddy,"  had  sent  for  Eunice,  who  by  the  way  was 
an  expert  needle-woman,  to  come  and  assist  them  with 
their  summer's  sewing. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  287 

Of  course  Cousin  John  would  attend  to  the  expenses  of 
<*  travelling,"  at  least  so  the  letter  read,  and  he  generously 
fulfilled  the  promise  by  procuring  a  pass  through  the  influ- 
ence of  a  baggage  master.  And  now  the  visit  was  over 
and  Eunice  had  returned  home  full  of  Cousin  John's  Im- 
portance and  the  Saratoga  fashions. 

It  had  been  at  Eunice's  suggestion  that  the  Aid  Society 
was  Invited  to  meet  at  Deacon  Ludlow's  again.  Every 
one  knew  that  the  deacon's  family  had  declared  that  they 
had  done  more  than  their  part  already ;  but  Eunice  felt  an 
uneasy  desire  to  Inform  her  friends  of  the  marvellous  things 
which  she  had  seen  and  heard  at  Saratoga. 

As  a  regular .  party  was  deemed  quite  too  expensive,  it 
was  decided  to  have  the  '*  Society."  *<  It  will  be  much 
cheaper  than  a  party,"  thought  Mrs.  Ludlow,  as  she  re- 
membered the  tea  regulations  ;  •'^  and  we  can  take  a  little 
extra  pains  to  invite  those  we  want,  and  those  we  don't 
want  can  be  left  to  find  It  out  for  themselves." 

The  appointed  day  came,  and  with  it  came  **  The  Aid 
Society."  Among  the  first  arrivals  was  Mrs.  J.  PIxley 
Smith  arrayed  in  the  stiff  silk  dress  and  the  same  prodigious 
amount  of  jewelry  in  which  she  had  appeared  on  the  occa- 
sion of  Mrs.  Squires'  memorable  call.  Mrs.  Bingham  the 
minister's  wife,  wore  the  same  brown  alpaca  dress  and  the 
same  plain  linen  collar  and  black  velvet  bow  which  Miss 
Eunice  declared  she  had  stuck  to  ever  since  the  year  one. 
Mrs.  Squires  appeared  In  a  dark  worsted  dress  and  rich 
honiton  collar  fastened  with  a  cameo  pin,  which  Mrs. 
Smith  thought  was  very  bad  taste  for  any  one  that  could 
afford  new  fashioned  jewelry  as  well  as  "  Miss  Squares," 
as  she  persisted  in  calling  her. 

We  shall  not  trouble  you  with  the  details  of  the  dress  of 


2(38  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

Mrs.  Sharpe,  Mrs.  Brown,  and  the  number  of  ladles  who 
are  already  absorbed  in  listening  to  Miss  Eunice's  wonder- 
ful accounts  of  her  travels,  while  she  dwells  with  enthusi- 
asm upon  the  elegance  of  Cousin  John's  establishment,  and 
the  remarkable  accomplishments  of  little  Cousin  Una  who 
is  studying  French  arithmetic,  although  she  is  only  eight 
years  old. 

It  could  not  but  be  observed,  that  Miss  Eunice  became 
somewhat  less  communicative  after  the  arrival  of  Mrs. 
Squires.  Knowing  as  she  did  that  Mrs.  Squires  could 
easily  detect  the  parts  of  her  story  in  which  she  had  been 
wholly  indebted  to  imagination  for  her  facts ;  and  as 
she  thought  of  the  experiences  Mrs.  Squires  might  relate 
if  she  were  only  disposed  to  appreciate  her  advantages, 
she  looked  at  Mrs.  Squires  with  pitying  wonder,  for  her 
lost  opportunities. 

There  was  not  any  work  of  importance  on  hand.  The 
last  thing  the  society  had  attempted  was  a  dozen  shirts 
for  Mr.  Bingham  ;  and  these  being  finished,  the  question 
in  order  was,  to  what  they  should  next  devote  their 
efforts. 

*'  I've  been  telling  ma,"  said  Miss  Eunice,  *'  that  I 
think  we  had  better  labor  for  the  cause  of  foreign  mis- 
sions. I  heard  Mr.  Simpson,  while  I  was  at  Cousin 
John's.  I  was  so  much  delighted  with  his  farewell  ser- 
mon ;  he  preached  it  in  several  places,  and  I  heard  it  in 
Saratoga,  just  before  they  left  for  the  heathen  land.  His 
third  wife.  Miss  Stillman,  was  a  particular  friend  of  mine  ; 
he  had  printed  copies  of  the  sermon  for  sale,  and  I  bought 
one  on  her  account.  Some  parts  of  it  were  very  eloquent 
indeed."     And  taking  up  the  pamphlet  she  read  aloud  ;  — 

**  We  are  possessed  of  a  common  origin,  and  a  common 


•  TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  2  GO 

inheritance ;  sent  into  this  breathing  world  to  work  out  a 
common  destiny.  Then  why  should  we  limit  the  exercise 
of  our  Christian  charities  and  our  active  sympathies,  to 
the  circumscribed  limit  of  our  own  neighborhood  or 
county,  instead  of  encompassing  in  its  encircling  vastness 
the  great  human  family  of  man." 

"  I'm  very  sorry  he  did  not  come  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Smith,  «*  we  could  not  possibly  work  for  a  worthier  ob- 
ject ;  and  to  show  that  we  aint  narrow  minded  in  our 
views.     What  do  you  think  about  it,  Miss  Squares?" 

*'  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  be  in  the  way  of  any  good 
work,  but  we  should  be  careful  not  to  overlook  the  duty 
that  lies  nearest  us  ;  and  I  was  intending  to  suggest  that 
we  give  some  assistance  to  Mrs.  Elmer,  who  is  quite  sick ; 
and  both  her  children  and  herself  are  in  great  need  of 
assistance." 

**  Aint  you  mistaken  about  that?"  said  Mrs.  Ludlow; 
"I  guess  there  aint  anything  serious  the  matter  there,  you 
can't  believe  half  you  hear  now-a-days,  the  world  is  so 
wicked." 

**  I  am  sure  I'm  not  mistaken,  for  I  called  there  this 
afternoon,  and  found  her  quite  sick  of  a  fever,"  replied 
Mrs.  Squires. 

*'  Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  ''  then  how  do  we  know 
but  you  have  exposed  us  all  to  some  terrible  disease.  If 
you  was  anybody  but  Miss  Squares,  and  the  chief  one  of 
the  directorers  of  the  society,  I  should  say  you'd  done  a 
dretful  uriprudent  thing  a  going  there." 

''I  think  they  had    better    be   sent  to  the   poor-house 
right  off,  there's  no  knowing  but  what  it's  the  scarlet  fever 
she  has  got,  and  they  always  have  that  at  the  poor-house, 
23* 


270  MAEY  EL3IER,    OR 

SO  she  could  not  do  any  hurt  by  spreading  It  there,"  said 
Mrs.  Brown.  ^ 

' '  Why  didn't  you  advise  the  woman  that  owns  the 
house  to  turn  her  right  out,"  said  Mrs.  Sharpe ;  "  the 
rent  will  be  more  uncertain  than  ever  If  she  Is  sick,  be- 
sides, It's  never  safe  to  keep  sick  folks  In  a  house,  poor 
folks  In  particular,  she  might  die  there,  and  make  It  harder 
to  rent  the  rooms  afterward." 

*'  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Smith  ;  **  we  are  all  taxed  enough  to 
support  Idleness  and  poverty  there,  and  I  have  always 
thouii'ht  thev  would  come  to  It  yet." 

Mrs.  Squires  Improved  the  first  pause  in  the  excited 
clamor,  to  explain  to  the  ladles  that  the  sickness  winch 
Mrs.  Elmer  suffered  from  need  not  cause  them  such 
alarm,  as  it  was  only  a  low  fever,  Induced  by  constant  toil 
and  privation  ;  and  that  with  a  little  assistance  and  rest, 
she  might  soon  be  able  to  return  to  her  employment  ;  for 
she  knew  Mrs.  Elmer  better  than  to  believe  she  would 
willingly  be  a  burden  to  her  friends. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  to  hinder  her  resting  at  the 
county -house,"  said  Miss  Eunice,  "I  think  she  ought  to 
be  Q-rateful  that  she  lives  In  a  Christian  land,  where  a 
place  is  erected  and  maintained  for  the  Indigent." 

"But,"  continued  Mrs.  Squires,  ''would  It  not  be 
cruel  to  subject  a  person  like  Mrs.  Elmer,  whose  only 
crime  is  that  of  honest  poverty,  to  the  odium  of  being 
classed  among  paupers,  at  a  county  poor-house?  It  does 
not  seem  Christian,  to  me,  for  us,  as  an  Aid  Society  In  a 
respectable  church,  to  suffer  It.  I  should  not,  perhaps, 
express  myself  so  fully,  but  as  President  of  the  society, 
and  for  the  credit  of  the  organization,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
hi<dier  motive,  I  think  we  ought  to  help  her." 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  271 

**I  don't  like  to  differ  with  a  person  like  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Ludlow,  *<  but  the  sentiments  you  have  just  ex- 
pressed wound  my  feelings  ;  they  remind  me  painfully  of 
the  awfid  doctrines  that  Mrs.  Lee  teaches  those  that  come 
under  her  influence.  Don't  you  remember  the  Bible 
teaches  us  '  our  own  righteousness  is  filthy  rags,'  but  if 
you  and  Mrs.  Lee  have  got  so  blinded  as  to  think  your 
own  works  can"  save  you,  I  don't  see  that  you  can  do  bet- 
ter than  improve  the  opportunity,  and  leave  the  Society  to 
a  wider  field  of  usefuhiess.  If  Mrs.  Lee  knows  about 
'em,  and  she  ought  to  I'm  sure,  why  then  she  must  count 
this  fever  a  special  providence  in  her  behalf." 

"  Let  her  try  it  as  long  as  I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Smith, 
*'  and  I  guess  she'll  get  discouraged  before  she  makes  any- 
thing of  them.  But  we  are  taking  up  the  Society's  time 
with  all  this  miscellaneous  talk,  and  I'm  anxious  to  hear 
about  Mr.  and  Miss  Simpson." 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  to  gratify  your  wishes,"  said 
Miss  Eunice;  "  but  in  order  to  dispose  of  this  question, 
I  propose  that  we  put  it  to  vote.  Those,  therefore,  who 
are  in  favor  of  assisting  our  far  distant  friends  in  their 
laudable  and  honorable  undertaking  of  carrying  the  Chris- 
tian light  of  the  gospel  into  heathenism's  darkest  recess, 
will  make  their  wishes  manifest  by  standing  up ;  or  by 
rising  to  express  so  praiseworthy  a  desire ;  while  those 
who  are  willing  to  have  their  time  appropriated  for  the 
benefit  of  a  certain  obscure  family,  who  seem  to  be  in 
great  favor  in  certain  quarters  nearer  home,  may  sit 
still." 

**  Almost  unanimous,"  said  Eunice,  as  she  glanced  tri- 
umphantly about  the  room,  and  saw  every  one  upon  their 
feet  except  Mrs.  Bingham  and  Mrs.  Squires. 


272  MARY  EL3IER,    OR 

*'  Now  please  to  continue,"  said  Mrs.  Smith. 

'*  Well,  I  was  just  saying,  or  rather  I  was  about  to  re- 
mark, Mrs.  Simpson  was  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  and 
I  thought  we  ought  to  feel  it  a  privilege  to  avail  ourselves 
of  such  an  opportunity  to  assist  in  the  great  cause.  The 
people  in  Gambletown  made  several  suits  of  clothing  to 
be  sent  to  little  namesakes  of  theirs  in  Muffletegawny, 
that  was  the  name  of  the  station  ;  and  I  don't  think  we 
could  do  better  than  to  follow  their  example.  It's  not  a 
new  idea  to  me,  and  I  have  an  embroidered  handkerchief, 
nearly  finished,  which  I  intend  to  mark  in  full,  '  Eunice 
Ludlow,  of  Saratoga ; '  you  see  it  would  be  my  name  and 
Cousin  John's  little  girl's  name  too,  and  would  be  killing 
two  birds  with  one  stone,  you  know." 

*<  I  hope  Miss  Simpson  will  teach  'em  better  than  to 
throw  stones  at  birds,  particularly  out  of  such  a  nice 
handkerchief  as  that,"  said  Mrs.  Sharpe. 

Mrs.  Bingham,  who  had  been  a  silent  listener, 
could  scarcely  repress  her  indignation,  and  her  sense  of 
wrong,  and  ventured  to  repeat  the  old-fashioned  maxim, 
that  *'  Charity  begins  at  home,"  and  to  mention  again  the 
claims  of  Mrs.  Elmer ;  when  Mrs.  Smith,  feeling  very 
sensitive  about  the  family,  and  sustained,  as  she  thought, 
by  the  popular  vote,  took  occasion  to  express  herself  more 
fully  in  regard  to  them. 

**I  don't  want  to  prejudice  nobody,  but  I've  tried  to 
help  that  family,  if  anybody  ever  tried  to  endeavor  to  do 
anything,  and  I  don't  mean  to  let  their  ingratitude  and 
unthankfulness  aiFect  me,  but  then  it's  very  trying." 

"Ingratitude  is  very  hard  to  bear,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Ludlow. 

"  But  it  does  not  lessen  our  obligations  to  be  charitable. 


TRIALS  AND    CHANGES.  273 

The  commands  and  the  promises  nowhere  put  in  the  grat- 
itude of  the  recipient  of  favor  as  a  condition  of  our 
charity.  We  never  find  '  He  that  giveth  to  the  grateful 
poor,  lendeth  to  the  Lord/  else  we  might  lose  the  reward 
hereafter,  by  lowering  our  motives  to  the  price  of  human 
praise  and  human  gratitude,"  said  Mrs.  Bingham. 

**  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Smith,  *'  but  you  can't  say  it 
aint  discouraging  to  find  the  objects  of  our  bounty  proud 
and  extravagant,  besides  being  low  and  poor.  I  don't 
want  to  prejudice  nobody,  but  facts  is  facts,  and  what  I 
say  is  to  be  depended  on.  Everybody  knows  that  family 
got  along  well  enough  before  he  went  away,  but  the  way 
she  has  managed  since,  just  shows  how  much  she  knows. 
Miss  Ludlow  knows  about  it  as  well  as  I  do,  this  big  blue 
velvet  chair  is  one  of  her  extravagances  ;  it  looked  just 
like  new  when  she  sold  it  here,  and  they  just  took  it  out 
of  charity  ;  "  here  Mrs.  Smith  ceased  her  violent  rocking, 
and  arose  for  the  ladies  to  express  their  horror  or  their 
admiration,  as  their  expressions  were  divided  between  the 
chair  and  its  former  owner. 

* '  That's  nothing  at  all  compared  to  the  pin  that  opened 
my  eyes,"  continued  Mrs.  Smith.  ' *  After  he  had  been  gone 
a  spell,  and  I  heard  how  she  was  selling  ofi'her  fineries,  I 
knew  she  had  a  costly  pin,  and  so  I  went  over  prepared  to 
give  her  full  as  much  as  it  was  worth  in  old  gold. 
But  I  wan't  goifig  to  buy  a  cat  in  a  bag,  so  I  just  give  a 
good  look  at  it.  I  knew  it  was  genniwine,  because  he  sent 
it  to  her  from  Calaforny,  and  everything  is  genniwine  that 
comes  from  there.     But  such  a  pin  you  never  did  see. 

*'  On  the  front  side  of  it  there -was  a  locket  lid,  and  under 
it  was  George  Elmer  just  as  natural  as  life,  only  his  face 
was  peekeder  than  ever,  and  his  bcaid  longer.      It  looked 


274  3fAEr  ELMER,    OR 

as  though  he  had  not  shaved  sence  he  went  away.  On  the 
outside  of  the  lid  was  some  plain  checkered  work ;  but  the 
Inside  of  it  beat  everything.  It  was  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  young  one  with  a  night-gown  on,  and  a  pair  of 
wings  on  its  back.  I  could  not  see  that  it  looked  anything 
like  their  cubs  only  them  everlastin'  curls.  -I  was  glad 
they  had  modesty  enough  to  put  it  inside.  I  shouldn't  be 
willing  to  have  one  of  my  children  taken  in  such  a  plight, 
it's  bad  enougli  to  have  them  look  like  fury  around  every 
day.  But  the  motto  capped  the  climax.  I  copied  it  with 
my  big  gold  pencil,  it  read  '  a  dieii  pour  vous.^  I  did  not 
ask  her  what  it  meant,  for  I  did  not  want  to  condescend, 
but  my  niece  translated  it  for  me.  It's  French,  and  means 
*  ado  for  you.'  I  must  say  it's  rather  proper  after  all, 
for  she  made  a  fuss  about  him,  after  he  had  gone,  and  I 
g'pose  he  took  this  way  to  return  the  compliment,  and  make 
an  ado  for  her.  Of  course  such  a  pin  would  not  do  for  a 
person  of  any  taste,  and  so  I  did  not  even  make  her  an 
offer  for  it." 

^'I've  heard  of  that  pin  before,  my  husband  offered  to 
take  it  once,  on  some  rent  that  she  wanted  to  get  out  of 
paying;  he  managed  to  get  an. old  clock. and  that  was  all. 
I  guess  she  had  rather  stick  to  her  finery,  than  to  pay  her 
honest  debts, ".said  Mrs.  Sharpe. 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Deacon  Ludlow  and  Rev.  Mr.  Binghanf,  who  had  been 
invited  to  take  tea  with  the  ladles.  Sam  Ludlow  soon 
made  his  appearance  also.  He  was  being  got  ready  for 
school  in  a  distant  town,  and  this  fact  seemed  to  add  so 
much  to  his  social  importance,  that  he  was  now  expected  to 
be  introduced  to  company. 

It  did  not  however  cause  him  to  forget  any  of  his  old 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  275 

tricks,  for  he  invariably  managed  to  say  or  do  something 
to  vex  and  mortify  his  sisters. 

The  conversation  seemed  to  take  a  more  reliijious  turn 
upon  the  entrance  of  the  minister.  Mrs.  Sharpe  began  to 
express  her  interest  in  a  revival  which  was  in  successful 
progress  in  a  neighboring  town,  and  where  two  of  her 
nieces  had  been  hopefully  converted. 

"That's  just  what  we  want  here,"  said  Mrs.  Smith. 
"  I've  been  telling  Mr.  Smith  I  did  so  wish  there  was  an 
opportunity  for  him  to  get  religion." 

"  There  was  a  wonderful  awakening  at  Saratoga,  while 
I  was  at  Cousin  John's.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Simpson's  visit 
caused  a  gTcat  deal  of  emotion  there ;  perhaps  you  would 
like  to  look  at  his  farewell  sermon,"  said  Eunice,  handing 
Mr.  Bingham  her  printed  copy.  ' 

' '  Maybe  the  ladies  would  like  to  hear  some  of  it  read 
aloud,"  suggested  Mrs.  Ludlow. 

""  I  should  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Smith. 

And  Mr.  Bingham  read  from  the  closing  paragraphs  :  — 

"  We  have  now  voluntarily  banished  ourselves  from  all 
the  endearments,  the  attractions  and  refinements,  of  a  home 
in  civilized  life.  Turned  our  backs  upon  all  these  to 
become  laboring  exiles,  in  that  far  distant  portion  of  the 
Lord's  vineyard,  to  which  we  now  pray  the  gales  to  waft 
us  swiftly  onward,  though  at  the  risk  of  a  watery  grave. ^ 

"  I'm  afraid  very  few  of  us  would  be  willing  to  follow 
Miss  Simpson's  noble  example,  and  leave  all  to  follow  the 
Lord  !  "  exclaimed  Eunice,  with  a  patient  sigh  of  unappre- 
ciated merit. 

' '  That  could  be  decided  better  if  more  missionaries  come 
over  after  wives,"  said  Sam,  with  a  significant  grin,  "  I 
rather  guess  there  would  be  something  of  a  scattering 
among  the  old  maids." 


276  MAEY  ELMER,    OR 

Mrs.  Smith  and  Mrs.  Sharpe  exchanged  smiles.  Mrs. 
Squires  directed  her  eyes  more  closely  to  her  work.  Mr. 
Bingham  became  silently  interested  in  the  sermon,  and  a 
pause  ensued,  until  Mrs.  Ludlow  announced  that  "  tea 
was  ready." 

On  the  Society  book  it  was  written  that  there  should 
always  be  a  plain  tea,  —  **  Biscuit  and  apple-sauce,  and 
only  one  kind  of  cake."  Some  of  the  guests  were  therefore 
a  little  surprised,  when,  on  taking  seats  at  the  table,  they 
were  served  with  soda  biscuit,  raised  biscuit,  buns,  and 
strawberry  shortcake,  cider  apple-sauce,  crab-apple  sauce, 
pineapple,  and  apple  jelly.  Then  there  were  fruit  cake, 
plain  cake,  and  cookies. 

Mrs.  Sharpe  thought  they  were  liable  to  a  fine,  for  break- 
ing the  rules  of  the  Society.  But  Miss  Eunice  explained 
it  very  satisfactorily,  —  "  You  all  see  there's  only  biscuit 
and  apple-sauce,  and  as  for  the  cake,  there  is  only  one  kind, 
the  fruit  cake  is  just  like  the  other,  only  it  has  some  raisins 
and  a  little  citron  stirred  in,  and  the  cookies  are  just  the 
same  dough  with  a  little  more  flour,  and  a  few  caraways 
added." 

Mrs.  Smith  said,  that  according  to  her  Ideas,  it  was 
breaking  the  rules  in  the  right  direction,  and  for  her  part 
she  was  willing  to  swallow  the  offence,  as  she  helped 
herself  to  a  large  slice  of  fruit  cake,  laughing  audibly  at 
her  own  attempted  wit. 

Soon  after  tea  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingham  expressed  their 
desire  to  leave.  Mr.  Bingham  had  promised  to  make  a 
sick  call,  and  Mrs.  Bingham  was  to  go  to  see  Mrs.  Lee, 
whom  she  had  not  seen  In  a  long  time,  and  her  husband 
was  to  join  her  at  Mrs.  Lee's,  to  return  home. 

There  was  an  immediate  lengthening  of  faces  as  Mr. 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  277 

Bingham  spoke  of  going,  and  such  a  universal  expression 
of  interest  in  the  welfare  of  Zion,  and  such  a  desire  for  a 
special  effort  expressed  by  several,  that  Mr.  Bingham  felt 
compelled  to  propose  obtaining  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Phil- 
lips, a  noted  revivalist,  to  help  in  the  work,  and  it  was 
decided  that  he  should  write  immediately  for  the  desired  aid. 
Miss  Eunice  expressed  her  regret  at  the  necessity  of  the 
sick  call,  and  wished  the  visit  to  Mrs.  Lee  could  be  post- 
poned, the  company  would  regret  so  much  to  lose  them  so 
early  in  the  evening. 

*'  Better  have  'em  find  out  who  that  chap  at  Mrs.  Lee's 
is,"  said  Sam,  with  his  usual  significant  leer  at  Eunice. 
No  one  replied.  Mr.  Bingham  was  called  upon  to  address 
the  Throne  of  Grace,  and  made  a  short  but  earnest  prayer, 
when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingham  bade  the  company  good 
night.  As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  hearing,  Sam  said 
*'  That  was  a  pretty  good  oration  to  the  Lord."'  And  on 
being  reproved  for  his  irreverence,  very  gravely  asked  his 
mother  to  explain  the  difference  between  an  *'  oration  to 
the  Lord,"  and  an  *' address  to  the  Throne  of  Grace." 
You  see  I  am  going  to  school  and  I  want  to  understand 
these  things." 
24 


278  MARY  ELMER,    OR 


CHAPTER  XII. 

T  Mrs.  Lee's,  Mr.  Bingham  found  Dr.  Charles 
Lee,  the  person  to  whom  Sam  Ludlow  had  refer- 
ence. '  He  is  a  nephew  of  the  late  Dr.  Lee,  and 
has  stopped  to  pay  a  visit  on  his  return  from  Cali- 
fornia. It  is  not  his  first  visit  to  our  little  town  ;  years  before 
he  had  come  hither  with  the  intention  of  studying  medicine 
wdth  his  uncle.  The  intention,  however,  had  been  hastily 
overruled  by  the  sad  dispensation,  with  which  our  story 
begins,  and  after  his  uncle's  lamented  death  he  had  com- 
pleted his  course  in  a  neighboring  city,  and  subsequently 
practised  in  San  Francisco,  where  his  earnest  efforts  had 
been  rewarded  by  the  esteem  and  confidence  of  a  large 
and  thriving  practice,  as  well  as  by  those  more  material 
returns  which  the  world  counts  as  the  criterion  of  success. 
The  relation  of  Dr.  Lee's  pleasant  adventures,  assisted 
no  doubt  by  her  own  determination  not  to  dwell  upon  sad 
or  painful  memories  during  his  visit,  had  already  told 
favorably  upon  Mrs.  Lee's  health,  and  nearly  every  pleasant 
day  found  them  riding  or  walking  out  in  company. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  as  they  were  passing  tlie 
residence  of  the  Smiths,  the  attention  of  Dr.  Lee  was 
arrested  by  the  dog  Bounce  lying  near  the  gate,  and  walk- 
ing more  slowly  and  eying  the  dog  with  increased  interest 
he  said,  **  I  declare,  aunty,  that  dog  looks  like  an  old 
acquaintance." 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  279 

His  interest  in  the  noble  fellow  increased  as  Bounce  im- 
mediately jumped  up  and  running  up  to  them,  placed  his 
left  foot  immediately  upon  the  Doctor's  hand.  "  I  really 
believe  I  have  found  an  old  patient  said  the  Doctor." 

' '  And  so  I  am  to  Infer  that  your  practice  extended  to 
dogs,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  smiling  at  the  rapid  progress  of 
their  mutual  recognition. 

*'  I  don't  hesitate  to  own  It  did  to  this  fellow,"  replied 
the  Doctor  examining  a  well-defined  scar  on  Bounce's  still 
extended  foot.  "  I  think  there's  no  mistake;  this  Is  poor 
Elmer's  dog,  and  that  scar  shows  the  very  spot  where  his 
foot  was  hurt  while  he  was  in  the  mines." 

*'  Was  it  George  Elmer?"  asked  Mrs.  Lee,  with  inter- 
est,  ' '  the  young  man  who  went  from  this  place  ?  " 

"  I  never  knew  where  he  was  from,  I  think  the  name 
was  George- — the  man  was  sick  in  the  hospital,  and  had  a 
pretty  severe  time  with  a  prevailing  fever. " 

*'  Yes,  I  believe  he  died  of  it,  after  a  time ;  at  least  that 
was  the  report  which  was  brought  back  here." 

*'  Oh  no,  he  did  not  die  of  the  fever;  he  was  very  ill 
for  a  long  time,  but  I  remember  distinctly  that  he  recov- 
ered and  went  to  work  again." 

**  Did  you  ever  see  Smith,  the  shoemaker?  " 

' '  I  don't  know  that  I  did  ;  there  were  any  number  of 
Smiths  there  but  I  don't  recollect  having  a  particular 
acquaintance  with  any  of  them." 

' '  Then  you  never  knew  what  became  of  Elmer  after  his 
sickness  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Lee  inquiringly. 

'*  I  think  he  was  in  the  hospital  when  I  left,  and  that 
was  some  months  afterward." 

Mrs.  Lee  was  very  much  interested  in  what  she  had 
learned  of  the  husband  of  her  friend,  and  that  very  even- 


280  MAEY  ELMER,    OR 

ing  availed  herself  of  the  opportunity,  while  her  nephew- 
was  writing  to  his  family,  of  going  out  to  carry  to  Mrs. 
Elmer  the  intelligence  which  she  was  so  happy  to  be  the 
medium  of  conveying. 

As  she  approached  the  house  and  was  thinking  how  to 
give  expression  to  the  good  news  in  store  for  her  friend, 
little  Mary,  who  had  discovered  her  approach,  ran  out  to 
meet  her,  exclaiming, 

**  How  glad  I  am  you  have  come  !  mamma  has  got  a 
letter  and  it  made  her  almost  well,  and  my  papa  was  alive 
all  the  time,  and  Mr.  Smith  told  a  naughty  story  ;  is  it  not 
wonderful  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lee  kissed  the  little  girl  in  congratulation,  and 
went  into  the  house,  where  her  tears  of  sympathy  were 
soon  mingled  with  the  drops  of  joy  that  flowed  freely  down 
Susan's  face  as  they  spoke  together  words  of  gratitude  to 
God  for  the  blessed  tidings  which  had  been  so  long  delayed. 

We  cannot  furnish  our  readers  a  copy  of  the  letter 
which  gave  Susan  so  much  pleasure,  for  she  had  not  that 
vulgar  ambition  of  display  which  might  have  induced  some 
to  send  it  to  the  newspapers  ;  nor  did  she  circulate  It  about 
for  •  neighborhood  comment  and  criticism.  Those,  there- 
fore, who  wish  to  know  more  of  George  Elmer  will  be 
compelled  to  go  with  us  on  the  long  journey  to  California. 
And  as  it  will  only  be  fair  to  give  our  friends  a  parting 
call  before  taking  leave  of  them  for  the  long  journey,  we 
will  stop  at  the  meeting-house  on  the  w^ay. 

The  new  lamps  are  now  in  constant  use,  for  while  we 
have  been  engaged  in  other  matters,  the  revival  has  not 
only  been  fairly  Inaugurated  but  is  going  on  with  increased 
activity  and  zeal.  And  as  it  is  the  opinion  of  those  most 
interested,  that  its  prosperity  is  wholly  owing  to  the  efforts 


TRIALS  AND   CITANGES.  281 

of  Kev.  Mr.  Phillips,  some  may  wish  a  more  formal  intro- 
duction to  this  distinguished  revivalist.  He  is  a  person 
rather  above  the  medium  height,  with  large  hazel  eyes 
which,  but  for  a  total  lack  of  expression,  might  be  called 
beautiful.  His  coal-black  hair  was  parted  in  a  fashion  which 
showed  no  neglect  from  its  owner  ;  his  manner  is  affable 
and  conciliating,  and  his  dress  of  glossy  black  broadcloth 
as  faultless  as  the  most  fastidious  tailor  could  devise.  Some 
insinuating  person  has  intimated  that  a  sudden  improve- 
ment in  his  personal  appearance  is  closely  connected  with 
the  recent  death  of  his  wife  ;  and  a  facetious  friend  has 
hinted  that  even  his  hair  has  become  several  Shades  darker 
to  match  the  new  mourning  suit ;  but  of  the  truth  of  these 
hints  we  are  not  personally  responsible,  although  certain 
it  is,  that  his  popularity  has  never  suffered  in  consequence 
of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Phillips  is  a  widower. 

His  sermons,  in  the  opinion  of  some,  were  mere  plati- 
tudes, with  a  faint  shadow  of  an  idea  clothed  in  one  weak 
syllogism  after  another,  but  without  force  or  pith,  while 
his  prayers  were  only  a  medley  of  threatened  wrath  to 
evil  doers,  a  report  of  neighborhood  gossip,  and  a  dispen- 
sation of  full  and  free  salvation  to  the  elect ;  but  whatever 
of  adverse  criticism  might  be  bestowed  upon  these  efforts, 
there  was  a  charm  and  sweetness  in  the  melody  of  his  voice 
to  which  not  even  the  most  hostile  could  listen  without 
admiration.  The  sentiments  which  he  made  this  heaven- 
bestowed  talent  the  means  of  conveying,  may  be  better 
learned  from  one  of  his  favorite  hymns,  than  from  any 
words  of  ours,  and  we  copy  one  of  them  from  the  printed 
sheets   which    were   liberally  distributed    throughout   the 

church  :  — 

24* 


282  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

JESUS   PAID   IT   ALL. 

Nothing  either  great  or  small 
Remains  for  me  to  do; 

Jesus  died  and  paid  it  all, 
Yes,  all  the  debt  I  owe. 

CHORUS. 

Jesus  paid  it  all, 
All  the  debt  I  owe, 
Jesus  died  and  paid  it  all. 
Yes,  all  the  debt  I  owe; 
Jesus  paid  it,  paid  it,  all. 

When  He  from  his  lofty  throne 
.     Stooped  down  to  do  and  die, 
Everything  was  fully  done. 
Yes  <•  Finished"  was  his  cry. 

CHOKUS. 

Weary,  working,  plodding  one, 
Oh,  wherefore  toil  you  so? 

Cease  your  doing,  all  was  done. 
Ages  IdDg  ago. 

CHORUS. 

Till  to  Jesus'  work  you  cling. 

Alone  by  simple  faith ; 
"  Doing  "  is  a  deadly  thing, 
Doing  ends  in  death. 

CHORUS. 

Cast  your  deadly  doing  down, 

Down  at  Jesus,  feet; 
Stand  in  him,  in  him  alone, 

Glorious  and  complete. 

CHORUS. 


We  will  leave  the  spiritual  affiiirs  of  our  friends  to  the 
pastoral  care  of  their  musical  shepherd,  while  we  make  a 
hasty  trip  to  California  for  the  purpose  of  inquiring   after 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  283 

our  friends  at  San  Francisco.  We  shall  not  ask  you  to 
brave  the  perils  by  sea  of  a  voyage  around  the  Cape,  nor 
the  risks  and  hazards  of  a  railroad  trip,  because  we  prefer 
the  safer  and  more  direct  line  of  our  own  imagination. 

It  is  true  that  Smith  has  left  George  Ehner  very  sick 
indeed,  and  the  fever  has  long  seemed  to  defy  the  physi- 
cian's skill  and  the  nurse's  care.  Before  this  calamity  had 
overtaken  him,  however,  he  had,  while  yet  the  enthu- 
siasm of  a  new  enterprise  lasted,  accumulated  a  thousand 
dollars  which  he  had  confided  to  Smith'«  offered  charge  for 
the  little  family  at  home.  Elmer  was  too  ill  at  the  time 
of  the  transaction  to  attend  to  any  legal  papers,  and  the 
worse  sickness  which  followed  had  so  impaired  his  mem- 
ory that  he  had  never  even  wondered  why  it  was  never 
heard  from.  He  had  lingered  long,  conscious  only  of  the 
change  from  intense  pain  to  a  languid  stupor,  and  when 
the  violence  of  the  disease  had  at  last  passed  away,  the 
wild  expression  of  the  eye  and  the  strange  incoherence  of 
speech  formed  no  uncertain  indication  of  the  sad  havoc  of 
disease. 

Thouo^i  his  mental  faculties  had  suffered  much  under  the 
painful  malady,  yet  as  his  strength  returned,  with  it  came 
back  so  much  of  George  Elmer's  former  enterprise  that  he 
was  soon  able  to  apply  himself  to  the  practice  of  his  old 
business  of  dentistry. 

A  little  office  had  been  provided  in  a  part  of  the  hospi- 
tal for  a  former  patient,,  and  as  such  services  were  in  great 
demand  and  George  had  always  been  a  skilful  workman, 
he  was  soon  gaining  a  handsome  remuneration  ;  he  never 
spoke  of  his  family  or  friends,  and  was  always  quiet  and 
reserved  towards  every  one  except  the  little  children,  who 
frequently  came  in  to  bring  flowers  or  dainties  to  the  pa- 


284  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

tients,  and  on  whom  he  bestowed  the  curious  little  devices, 
the  manufacture  of  which  occupied  his  leisure. 

There  was  in  the  same  ward  with  Elmer  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Goulding,  who  had  been  seriously  injured  by  the 
blasting  of  a  rock,  and  brought  in  some  time  after  Elmer. 
For  many  weeks  each  failed  to  recognize  the  other  as  an 
old  acquaintance  and  former  partner ;  yet  it  was  not  very 
strange,  for  Goulding  had  supposed  with  many  others  that 
Elmer  had  died  of  the  fever ;  and  the  effects  of  that  fearful* 
malady  upon  the  memory  of  the  latter,  had  prevented  his 
recognizing  any  person  except  those  who  had  been  con- 
stantly with  him. 

It  was  a  matter  of  surprise  to  Goulding  that  after  a  rec- 
of^nition  had  taken  place,  Elmer  received  with  such 
indifference  his  accounts  of  the  richness  of  the  claims  in 
which  they  owned  a  mutual  interest ;  and  not  until  one 
evening  when  Mrs.  Goulding  had  come  in  as  usual  to 
spend  an  hour  with  her  husband  did  Elmer  appear  fully 
to  have  recovered  his  former,  self.  Goulding  had  asked 
his  wife  to  sing  for  him,  and  as  she  finished  the  second 
stanza  of  that  sweet  little  song  entitled  ' '  Star  of  the  Eve- 
ning,^  noticing  the  strange  effect  the  words  seemed  to 
have  upon  his  friend,  Goulding  begged  her  to  stop. 

Elmer's  face  was  pale  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  dim 
with  unshed  tears,  as  he  asked  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
"  Where's  my  wife?  Where's  Susan,  and  why  does  not 
she  come  and  sing  the  Shining  Star  to  me?" 

Some  of  the  attendants  were  alarmed,  and  feared  a  re- 
lapse of  the  disease,  but  they  soon  learned  that  it  was  only 
the  sv/eet,  soothing  power  of  music  that  had  roused  that 
hidden  chain  in  which  the  thoughts  of  those  he  loved  had 
so  lon'^  been  lulled,  and  he  grew  calmer  as  the  recollection 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  285 

of  that  far-away  fireside,  the  worn  and  wasted  form  of  the 
aged  grandmother,  the  earnest  but  uncomplaining  face  of 
his  wife,  and  the  happy  voices  of  his  little  children,  seemed 
to  come  like  a  beacon  of  life  and  hope  to  the  storm-bound, 
ocean-wrecked  mariner.  He  soon  indited  the  letter,  of  the 
safe  arrival  of  which  we  have  learned,  and  as  he  intends 
very  soon  to  follow  it.  we  will  go  back  to  find  what  prepara- 
tions are  being  made  for  his  return. 

The  news  of  the  arrival  of  a  letter  from  George  Elmer 
soon  spread  through  the  town,  where  it  shared  with  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  the  new  converts,  among  whom 
Sam  Ludlow  and  J.  P:  Smith  were  prominent  in  being  the 
principal  topics  of  conversation. 

Mr.  J.  Pixley  Smith  was  among  the  first  to  call  upon 
Mrs.  Elmer  to  inquire  the  particulars  of  the  letter ;  and  as 
the  facts  in  relation  to  the  money,  and.  also  some  allusions 
to  the  dog  came  to  light,  Smith's  interest  In  the  affair  be- 
came decidedly  personal,  and  he  interrupted  Mrs.  Elmer 
before  she  had  finished  reading,  by  saying, 

*'  I've  been  intending  this  long  time  to  come  in  and  ex- 
plain matters  to  you.  You  know  we  have  tried  to  share 
the  burden  of  your  children  with  you,  and  then  we've  kept 
the  dog;  dogs  are  great  eaters,  and  it  would  eat  you  out 
of  house  and  home  to  have  such  a  voracious  fellow  as 
Bounce  around ;  but  if  you  want  the  critter,  you  can  have 
him.  Then  as  to  money  matters,  you  seemed  so  comfort- 
able I  thought  it  best  to  save  what  I  had  for  you  till  a 
rainy  day;  but  if  you  think  you  need  any,  Is'pose  I  must 
let  you  have  some,  though  women  folks  in  general  squan- 
der it  awfully." 

Mrs.  Elmer  might  perhaps  have  been  overcome  with 
indignation  at  this  speech  had  not  her  heart  been  too  full 


286  MARY  ELMER,    OR 

of  gladness  at  the  thought  of  her  husband's  return,  and  she 
replied,  *'  God  has  taken  care  of  us  so  far,  and  he  will  not 
forsake  us  now.  You  can  bring  the  money  or  leave  it  to 
settle  with  Mr.  Elmer,  for  I  am  not  anxious  to  have  any 
transactions  with  you." 

Mr.  Smith  felt  very  angry  at  the  honest  indignation 
Avhich  Mrs.  Elmer  had  expressed,  but  as  there  was  now  no 
apparent  benefit  to  be  derived  from  delay,  he  immediately 
applied  himself  to  collecting  the  amount. 

He  availed  himself  of  the  advantage  which  his  conspicu- 
ousness  in  the  late  revival  had  given  him,  and  as  he  was 
now  counted  among  the  "  active  brethren,"  and  his  wife 
directress  in  "  The  Muffletegawny  Missionary  Aid  Society," 
the  brilliant  thought  of  circulating  a  subscription  paper  for 
the  benefit  of  that  popular  institution,  occurred  to  him,  and 
wishing  to  show  his  liberality,  his  zeal,  and  his  pecuniary 
ability  in  one  bold  stroke,  he  headed  the  list  with  a  donation 
of  one  hundred  dollars.  It  was  soon  increased  by  the  addi- 
tion of  smaller  sums,  and  in  a  short  time  he  was  able  to 
hand  over  the  thousand  to  Mrs.  Elmer,  beside  leaving  a 
comfortable  sum  for  his  own  pocket. 

The  dog  which  had  been  pronounced  "  a  nuisance," 
*'  a  cuss,"  and  "  a  filthy  squadruped,"  at  the  Smith  resi- 
dence, w^as  the  subject  of  an  excited  "  family  scene  "  when 
Smith  declared  his  intention  to  give  it  away.  Mrs.  Smith 
called  him  a  cruel,  hard-hearted  monster  to  give  away  the 
only  thing  the  children  ever  did  care  anything  about.  The 
girls  pouted,  and  declared  they  wouldn't  go  to  school; 
Ferdinand  shut  Bounce  in  the  bedroom,  and  placing  him- 
self against  the  door,  armed  with  his  father's  cane  declared 
**  he'd  see  if  the  old  man  dared  to  touch  his  dorg."  Mean- 
time Smith  retreated  to  the  back  yard  and  waited  till  the 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  287 

excitement  was  over,  and  then  coaxing  Bounce  with  a  beef 
bone  which  he  had  picked  up  in  the  morning  at  a  butcher's 
stall  and  had  been  carrying  for  that  purpose  all  day,  he  led 
the  dog  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Elmer's,  where  he  was 
soon  discovered  by  Johnnie,  who  had  been  some  time 
watching  for  his  appearance.  He  was  soon  joined  by 
Mary  to  whom  he  had  conveyed  information  of  the  impor- 
tant arrival. 

There  was  a  very  joyful  meeting  between  the  little  girl 
and  her  old  friend  who  seemed  to  forget  the  ill  usage  he 
had  received  from  the  youthful  Smiths  so  much  as  to  make 
every  demonstration  of  friendship  to  Johnnie  and  Georgie 
to  whom  she  gave  him  the  most  flattering  introduction. 
As  the  former  annoyances  were  removed,  Bounce  became 
not  only  the  friend  and  companion  of  the  Elmers,  but  the 
favorite  of  the  neighborhood,  where  his  somewhat  unusual 
history  had  made  him  an  object  of  more  than  ordinary 
interest. 

Mrs.  Maddock  was  quite  overcome  with  delight  at  the 
good  fortune  of  the  Elmers,  although  she  declared  it  had 
all  happened  just  as  she  had  expected  ever  since  she  heard 
that  dream. 

Mrs.  Lee  improved  the  earliest  opportunity  which  Har- 
riet's visit  afforded  to  investigate  the  affair  of  the  mysterious 
disappearance  of  the  note,  and  had  succeeded  in  settling 
it  with  Deacon  Ludlow  by  giving  him  a  receipt  in  full  on 
his  paying  the  exact  amount  which  had  been  inclosed  in 
the  letter.  The  deacon  congratulated  himself  on  being 
abundantly  able  to  meet  the  demand,  expressing  at  the 
same  time  his  satisfaction  that  Sam  was  done  sowing 
his  wild  oats  and  had  "  got  religion"  now,  while  it  was 
evident  that  the  thought  of  Sam's  making  any  restitution 


288  3fARY  JSLMEE,    OR 

for  the  wrong  he  had  done  never  once  occurred  to  the 
deacon's  mind.  The  teachers  tell  me  Sam  is  doing  first 
rate  now,  and  I  am  glad  we  had  that  revival  just  in  time 
to  save  him. 

Those  who  wish  to  be  informed  of  this  young  gentleman 
from  his  own  words,  can  do  so  by  reading  a  letter  which 
has  lately  been  received  from  him  by  John  Sharpe,  a  son 
of  Mrs.  Elmer's  former  landlord. 

Dear  Jack,  — It's  an  awful  long  time  since  I  heard  from 
you.  I  was  dreadful  sorry  you  got  shut  up  just  as  I  came 
away,  for  I  wanted  to  see  you  desperately.  I'm  sorry  you 
want  there  to  get  religion  when  I  did  ;  I  tell  you  it's  the 
best  investment  I've  made  lately,  for  it  helps  a  fellow  along 
mightily.  This  is  a  first  rate  school ;  I  can  stay  out  as  late 
as  I  please,  and  no  questions  asked,  but  if  one  of  the  chaps 
that  hasn't  got  religion  is  caught  away  from  his  room  after 
nine,  he  gets  a  walking  ticket,  — whew! 

I  tell  you;  Jackjwe  had  a  gay  old  examination.  I  got  ex- 
cused from  my  classes  to  practise  my  oration.  I  wrote  on 
"  Religious  Forms,"  for  I  knew  all  the  old  dominies  and 
deacons  would  be  appointed  judges,  and  the  fellow  that  put 
in  the  most  piety  would  get  the  prize.  I  took  care  to  put 
in  a  good  rouser  about  the  "  old  dragon  and  the  old  seven 
hills."  You  see  it's  always  safe  to  give  popery  9,  death 
blow  ;  besides,  denunciation  suits  my  stjde  of  oratory. 

It  took  like  a  molasses  Aj'-'trap,  and  I  got  a  tremendous 
big  Bible  for  the  first  prize.  I  sold  it  for  four  fifty,  and  our 
society,  the  L.  A.'s  had  a  gay  old  spree  on  that,  you  may 
bet.  We  have  a  uniform  here  for  parade  days  and  such 
like.  It's  a  grand  arrangement,  for  we  wear  the  old  things 
that  the  others  leave,  and  then  the  money  answers  lots  of 
purposes. 

There's  an  Episcopal  society  here  ;  they've  got  a  real  nice 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  289 

meeting-house,  and  a  very  polite  chap  for  a  minister.     They 
are  ever  so  popular,  and  I  had  quite  a  notion  of  joining 
them,  but  the  fellow  has  taken  a  pious  turn  of  late  and  be- 
gins to  talk  about  self-denial  and  alms  deeds  in  a  way  that 
I  don't  relish.     I  like  the  notion  of  every-day  piety  ;  that 
means  something  you  can  always  make  useful.     Now's  the 
present  time,  and  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the 
bush.     This  going  without  your  beef-steak  and  sticking  to 
codfish  and  mackerel  six  weeks  in  March  is  what  I  call  a 
scaly  performance.     I  wish  you  would  write  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible and  tell  me  how  all  the  folks  are  getting  along.     I  won- 
der if  Eunice  will  make  out  to  catch  Mr.   Phillips.  •  Vm 
glad  you  kept  dark  about  that  old   Elmer  afiair.     I  have 
never  felt  just  right  about  it ;  I  knew  the  old  man  would 
fork  over  if  I   only  got   religion.     After  all  it  was  not  a 
mighty  sight  meaner  than  his  buying  her  chairs  for  less  than 
half  they  were  worth,  because  he  knew  she  was  obliged  to 
sell  them.     If  ever  I  make  a  lift  again,  it  will  be  on  an  Ex- 
press Office  or  a  bank  ;  there's  something  mean  in  robbing  a 
poor  widow,  but  then  if  I  get  as  much  saving  faith  as  the 
old  man  has,  I  shan't  be  so  scrupulous.     I  am  going  into 
the  storage  and  foraging  business  as  soon  as  I  get  through 
here,  and  if  that  don't  pay  I  may  come  back  and  marry 
Mary    Elmer,    by  way  of  righting  old  scores  ;  that  is  if 
Elmer  really  brings  back  the  dust. 

Yours  forever, 

Sam  Ludlow. 

P.S.     Please  direct  your  letter  to  Miss  Sarah    Loomis 

care  of  S.  Ludlow  Esq.     You  see  we  are  expected  to  have 

our  letters  sent  to  the  care  of  the  professors,  who  take  pains 

to  read  them  for  us,  and  I  want  to  save  them  that  trouble. 

Yours  again, 

S.  L. 

On  receiving  the  sums  of  money  from  Mrs.  Lee    and 
25 


290  MART  EL3IER,    OR 

Mr.  SmltPi,  Mrs.  Elmer's  first  care  was  to  secure  for  her- 
self and  family  a  home,  where  they  and  her  expected  hus- 
band would  be  more  comfortable.  And  although  their 
present  prosperity,  as  indicated  in  George's  letter,  might 
warrant  them  in  selecting  some  more  aspiring  locality,  it 
was  Susan's  highest  ambition  to  return  to  the  little  cot- 
tage where  they  had  first  started  housekeeping,  and  from 
which  George  had  gone  forth  on  his  journey. 

Here  the  pleasures  of  their  early  wedded  years  had 
been  crowned  with  joy,  by  the  birth  of  their  first-born 
child,  the  darling  Mary  ;  and  here  Jolmnle  had  received  a 
father's  smile  of  welcome,  and  a  mother's  kiss  of  love,  as 
he  added  new  happiness  to  a  home  which  had  been  already 
full  of  light  and  gladness.  And  in  later  years,  when  the 
rough  winds  of  adversity  seemed  untempered  to  the  shorn 
lambs,  and  the  dark,  hard  hand  of  poverty  seemed  ready 
to  crush  them,  had  little  Georgie  brought  the  smiles  of 
infant  innocence  to  cheer  once  more  the  desolate  home, 
and  to  prevent  the  thoughts  of  his  mother  from  flowing 
always  In  the  same  dark  channel. 

Here,  too,  had  been  learned  many  a  lesson  of  trusting 
hope,  and  patient,  quiet  submission,  from  the  example  of 
that  aged  mother,  whose  memory  was  still  embalmed  In 
the  si»>-hs,  and  dewed  with  the  tears  of  affectionate  remem- 
brance. 

The  little  cottage  was  soon  engaged,  and  the  few  prepa- 
rations for  moving  were  quickly  completed.  INIrs.  Mad- 
^dock,  with  characteristic  liberality,  declared  that  it  would 
be  time  enough  for  her  to  take  the  rest,  when  George 
Elmer  was  safe  home  again. 

As  Susan  and  the  children  were  following  their  little 
stock  of  furniture  to  their  new  home,  she  was  startled  by 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  '      291 

the  sight  of  a  carnage  at  the  door,  and  quite  excited  at  the 
thought  that  her  husband  had  possibly  preceded  her  there. 
Her  surprise  abated,  however,  when  on  entering  the  house 
she  found  her  visitor  to  be  Mrs.  Bennet  Squires,  who  had 
lately  returned  from  an  absence  of  several  weeks. 

It  had  been  the  surprise  and  horror  of  many  of  her 
neighbors,  that  she  could  think  of  going  away  just  in  the 
midst  of  the  revival;  and  Mrs.  Smith  had  even  gone  so 
far  as  publicly  to  propose  her  name  as  a  subject  for  their 
prayers. 

Certainly  the  religion  of  ^Irs.  Squires  was  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  Mrs.  Smith  ;  for  she  was  always  ready  to 
assist  the  poor  by  her  sympathy  and  her  bounty,  without 
makinor  a  cataloG:ue  of  their  faults.  While  she  sjave  to  her 
equals  or  her  superiors  in  worldly  things,  the  offices  of 
kindness,  without  taking  the  census  of  their  virtues ;  she 
never  made  it  her  business  to  censure  or  find  fault  with 
her  clergyman,  even  though  his  sermons  contained  doc- 
trines and  opinions  quite  at  variance  with  her  own.  Nor 
did  she  sneer  at,  or  find  fault  with  those  persons  who 
thought  they  found  aids  to  piety  and  excellence  in  things 
wdiich  to  her  judgment  appeared  only  the  excitement  of 
passion ,  or  the  sway  of  popular  public  sentiment ;  ever 
showing  a  commendable  respect  for  honest  differences  of 
opinion  and  of  belief. 

The  object  of  the  present  visit  added  another  to  the 
many  kindnesses  with  which  she  had  made  glad  the  home 
of  the  Elmers  ;  for  she  had  come  to  place  in  its  old  cor- 
ner the  little  clock,  of  whose  existence  she  had  first  heard 
at  the  society  at  Deacon  Ludlow's.  She  had  been  anx- 
ious to  give  to  Susan  some  token  of  the  pleasure  she  felt 
at  the  new  turn  of  events,  and  could  not  have  found  a 
more  welcome  expression  of  her  kindness. 


292  MART  ELMER,    OR 

Many  other  pieces  of  furniture  found  their  way  back  ; 
the  blue  velvet  rocking-chair  soon  took  its  accustomed 
commanding  position  in  the  little  front  parlor,  and  really 
looks  almost  as  bright  as  before  its  stay  at  the  Deacon's, 
where  the  hospitality  had  never  been  such  as  to  tell  unfa- 
vorably upon  the  parlor  furniture.  Susan  was  very  glad 
to  get  the  chair  again ;  it  had  been  one  of  her  few  wed- 
ding presents,  and  was  the  gift  of  a  liberal  and  w^ealthy 
friend,  in  New  York  City. 

Deacon  Ludlow  had  shown  considerable  reluctance  at 
l\Irs.  Elmer's  request  to  repurchase  the  chair.  *•  I — I — I 
s'pose  you  know  I  never  ofieved  my  furniture  for  sale, 
Miss  Elmer,"  he  said  ;  but  Susan  distinctly  remembered 
the  well-feigned  reluctance  with  which  he  had  paid  her  the 
paltry  sum  of  six  dollars  for  it.  She  could  almost  hear 
his  words  again,  as  he  said,  <'  'Taint  everybody  that  would 
want  to  buy  an  odd  piece  of  furniture  like  that,  and  you 
will  find  it  pretty  heavy  to  carry  round,  if  you  try  to  sell 
it  that  way." 

Remembering  these  things  as  Susan  did,  she  gained 
courage  to  urge  her  request,  which  the  Deacon  hesitatingly 
acknowledged. 

*'  I  don't  know,  but  being  it's  you,  I  shall  hev  to  let 
you  take  it  for  ten  dollars  ;  'taint  a  circumstance  to  what 
it's  worth  ;  besides  you  see  furniture  is  riz." 

Susan  had  just  got  comfortably  settled,  when  George 
returned.  We  shall  not  intrude  upon  the  pleasure  of  their 
first  meeting ;  but  several  weeks  have  now  passed,  since 
the  scattered  members  of  the  loving  household  were  re- 
united, and  though  tender  and  mournful  remembrances  of 
the  past  mingle  with  the  pleasures  of  the  present  hour, 
and  give  them  a  subdued  and   chastened    coloring,  theirs 


TRIALS  AND   CHANGES.  293 

is  a  quiet  happiness  which  glittering  splendor  and   dashing 
grandeur  might  covet  in  vain. 

George  Elmer  sits  beside  the  work-table,  reading  the 
last  numl^er  of  the  Dental  Journal,  while  Susan  sits  near, 
plying  her  needle  as  in  days  of  old.  Georgie  is  asleep, 
and  Johnnie  is  at  play  building  a  miniature  village. 
Jerusha  sits  in  a  retired  corner,  where  Mary  is  assisting 
her  to  learn  her  lesson  for  the  Bible  class.  She  is  still 
living  at  Mrs.  Lee's,  and  frequently  comes  over  to  visit 
her  early  friend.  Bounce  lies  upon  a  comfortable  rug 
beside  the  stove,  looking  contented  and  happy,  in  spite  of 
all  the  trials  and  changes  through  which  he  had  pas:ded, 
and  watching  his  matter's  eyes  whenever  they  turn,  wliile 
with  an  instinct  almost  human,  he  makes  his  master's  wel- 
come understood. 

When  George  Elmer  had  finished  reading  the  paper,  he 
folded  it  carefully,  and  laying  it  upon  the  table  turned  to 
Susan,  and  in  a  tone  which  brought  a  smile  of  recognition 
upon  Mary's  face,  said,  — 

"  Come,  Susy,  sing  The  Shining  Star." 

And  soon  that  cheerful  room  echoed  with  the  well- 
remembered  words,  as  they  all  united  in  the  chorus,  — 

Look  np,my  soul,be  like  the  lark, 

That  singing  soars  afar, 
There's  not  a  cloud, however  dark, 

But  veils  a  shining  star. 
25* 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 


LETTERS   FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 


HAYE  been  a  full  year  at  Timberville,  and  have 
never  yet  told  you  a  word  about  it.  And  as  you 
know  nothing  concerning  it,  excepting  that  it  does 
not  lie  on  the  direct  route  to  anywhere,  but  off  on 
one  side  by  itself,  I'll  be  bound  but  you  think  it  a  little  bit 
of  a  quiet,  unimportant  village,  made  up  of  a  tavern,  a 
store,  a  meeting-house,  a  blacksmith's  shop,  and  a  few  strag- 
gling dwelling  houses.  How  mistaken  you  are.  Timber- 
ville is  a  large  village  —  a  very  large  village.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  we  should  be  a  city  in  a  few  years ;  for  we  are 
a  very  enterprising  people,  and  there  is  a  deal  of  business 
done  here.  ^Ye  have  ever  so  many  streets,  and  any 
quantity  of  tall,  white  houses,  belonging  to  no  particular 
order  of  architecture,  but  invariably  graced  with  piazzas, 
adorned  with  four  huge  columns.  We  have,  also,  plenty 
of  red  brick  mansions  with  a  great  many  green  window 
blinds  ;  and  also,  now  and  then,  a  handsome  stone  dwell- 
ing. And,  like  all  populous  and  thriving  villages,  we 
have  our  complement  of  forlorn,  shabby,  rickety  old 
shells,  stuffed  full  of  beings  as  forlorn  and  shabby  as  them- 
selves. Poverty,  vice,  and  intemperance  abound  here. 
No  doubt  we  shall  be  a  city  in  a  few  years. 

(297) 


298  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

TImberville  is  delightfully  situated  on  both  sides  of  a 
beautiful  little  stream,  (or,  as  our  enterprising  villagers 
say,  2^  has  fine  mill  privileges,)  and  surrounded  by  tree- 
clad  hills.  I  am  never  weary  looking  at  our  hills,  beauti- 
ful at  all  times,  but  particularly  so  in  the  autumn,  when 
they  are  arrayed  in  a  robe  of  every  variety  of  color,  from 
the  most  gorgeous  crimson  to  the  softest  ash.  «'  What 
beautiful  hills  !  "  said  I,  enthusiastically,  as  I  was  one  day 
walking  with  a  worthy  gentleman.  <' Yes  —  yes  —  fine 
timberland,"  said  he. 

Our  society  is  very  much  like  the  society  In  all  growing 
villages.  We  have  good  people  and  bad  people ;  rich 
people  and  poor  people  ;  wise  people  and  ignorant  people  ; 
liberal  people  and  stingy  people;  sharp  people  and  dull 
people  ;  cute  people  and  nmib  people ;  industrious  people 
and  lazy  people.  People  who  mind  their  own  business 
and  people  who  mind  their  neighbors'  business.  Honest 
people  and  dishonest  people ;  literary  people  and  illiterate 
people,  and  soi  disant  literary  people  (excuse  that  French 
word.)  We  have  gay  people  and  serious  people;  noisy 
people  and  quiet  people;  people  who  go  to  church  and 
people  who  stay  away  from  church.  We  have  temperate 
people  and  intemperate  people.  People  who  read  the 
newspaper,  and  people  who  have  *'  other  fish  to  fry." 
People  who  take  *'  Godey"  and  people  who  borrow 
"  Godey."  We  shall  certainly  be  a  city  before  many 
years. 

We  have  all  sorts  of  societies,  too.  Missionary  socie- 
ties, Bible  societies,  tract  societies,  sewing  societies, 
maternal  societies,  mutual  improvement  societies,  sons  of 
temperance  and  daughters  of  temperance  societies,  odd 
fellows'  societies,  and  an  odd  ladles'  society,  composed 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  299 

chiefly  of  ancient  maidens.  We  have  freemasons'  socie- 
ties, literary  societies,  woman's  rights  societies,  anti-every- 
thing  societies,  benevolent  societies  for  all  sorts  of  objects, 
"  too  numerous  to  mention,"  (as  the  menagerie  bills  say 
when  they  get  down  to  the  monkeys.)  In  short,  we  have 
every  kind  of  society  that  you  can  possibly  mention.  Are 
we  not  in  a  fair  way  of  being  a  city  ? 

As  is  the  case  in  almost  all  new  enterprising  villages, 
the  chief  distinction  among  us  is  that  of  "  rich  and  poor." 
So  soon  as  a  man  is  able  to  put  up,  or  even  to  hire,  a  large 
house  with  two  parlors  and  folding-doors,  and  furnish  it 
showily,  he  takes  his  standing  among  the  Jirst.  The  one 
grand  object  of  the"  Timbervilllans  is  to  get  rich.  They 
are  all  agog  just  now  about  California.  Mr.  Martin,  and 
Mr.  Crandal,  and  Mr.  Wiggins,  have  almost  made  up 
their  minds  to  abandon  their  respective  occupations  and  set 
off  for  the  gold  country ;  and  their  wives  are  quite  de- 
lighted with  the  idea ;  for  Mrs.  Martin  wants  a  great  many 
things  wlilch  Mr.  Martin,  rich  as  he  is,  cannot  afford  now. 
And  Mrs.  Crandal  is  very  desirous  that  Mr.  Crandal 
should  go,  in  order  that  he  may  come  back  able  to  build  a 
grander  house  than  Mr.  Martin's,  with  larger  columns  and 
more  green  blinds.  She  knows  she's  as  good  as  Mrs. 
Martin,  any  day,  and  she'd  like  to  let  other  people  know  it. 
And  Mrs.  Wi2:o:ins  teases  her  husband  from  morninoj  till 
night  to  "  Go  to  Californy,  where  they  say  you've  only 
to  dig  up  the  gold  just  as  you  would  potaters  ;  "  for  she 
does  want  a  house  of  her  own,  and  a  sofy  and  some  curtings 
as  good  as  that  stuck.-\x^  Mrs.  Crandal's  ;  and  she  fears 
that  Mr.  Wiggins  will  never  be  able  to  get  them  as  long  as 
he  stays  here  and  delves  away  at  his  trade.  "  Gold  ! 
gold  !  gold  !  "  is  the  cry  from  every  mouth,  old  and  young. 
Oh,  we  shall  soon  be  a  city. 


300  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

I  would  like  to  introduce  you  to  some  of  our  first,  and 
let  you  see  in  what  sort  of  society  I  have  the  honor  to 
mingle.  Now  do  not  suppose  that  I  have  procured  the 
ability  to  present  you  among  the  *'  upper  ten,"  by  one  of 
the  aforesaid  tall  houses  with  big  parlors  and  folding- 
doors  ;  by  no  means ;  I  am  only  a  boarder  in  Timberville. 
But  where  shall  we  go?  —  to  a  party?  Now,  pray,  don't 
turn  up  your  nose  at  the  idea  of  a  party  in  Timberville. 
I  assure  you,  we  have  our  parties,  real  genuine  ones,  too, 
as  good  as  any  in  Philadelphia  —  assemble  at  ten  o'clock 
—  have  supper  at  twelve  or  one  —  dance  all  night,  and 
' '  don't  go  home  till  morning  "  —  for  the  Timbervillians 
would  think  it  very  ungenteel  and  countrified  to  keep 
reasonable  hours.     We  must  be  a  city  very  soon. 

But,  on  reflection,  I  tliink  I'll  not  take  you  to  a  party  — 
they  are  too  promiscuous.  Nor  will  I  bore  you  with  a 
sociable  tea-drinking  —  decidedly  one  of  the  most  tiresome 
things  in  the  world,  the  world  over.  And  in  Timberville 
they  are  just  what  they  are  everywhere  else,  (making 
allowance  for  some  few  local  peculiarities.)  The  ladies 
collecting  in  little  knots ;  some  talking  scandal,  some  more 
innocently  discussing  the  fashions,  but  by  far  the  greater 
portion  descanting  upon  the  various  trials  and  troubles  they 
have  with  their  ' '  helps  ;  "  while  the  very  small  sprinkling 
of  the  sterner  sex  —  who  never  talk  at  such  G^atherinofs, 
and  who  go  only  because  their  wives  insist  upon  it  —  are 
leaning  back  in  their  chairs  against  the  wall,  half  asleep, 
and  heartily  wishing  themselves  at  home,  or  in  some  place 
more  congenial  with  their  tastes. 

Suppose  you  go  with  me  to  one  of  our  numerous  socie- 
ties. Don't  be  alarmed  ;  it's  not  to  the  <*  odd  ladies,"  nor 
the  *'  daughters  of  temperance,"  nor  the  *'  woman's  rights 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  301 

society,"  that  we  are  going.  I  am  not  a  member  of  any 
of  them.  But  put  on  your  fix-ups,  and  prepare  to  accom- 
pany me  to  the  "  Timberville  literary  circle,"  where  you 
will  be  sure  to  meet  the  elite  (another  French  word  — 
pardon  me — perhaps,  however,  you  do  not  dislike  to  see 
French  and  English  mixed  together  as  badly  as  I  do). 
We  are  to  meet  this  very  evening  at  the  hospitable  mansion 
of  Mrs.  Bolton,  a  very  literary  lady  ;  but  you  shall  see  for 
yourself — I'll  not  anticipate.  Stop  a  moment;  I  must 
put  "  Godey"  in  my  pocket.  .Not  the  veritable  individual 
himself.  If  his  own  account  is  to  be  trusted,  that  would 
be  rather  more  than  I  could  do.  But  my  *'  Godey 's 
Lady's  Book"  for  the  month.  I  am  one  of  the  readers  for 
this  evening,  and  I  find,  by  experience,  that  I  am  not  half 
as  welcome  when  I  come  armed  and  equipped  with  an 
original  article  as  when  I  bring  my  '*  Godey." 

So  here  we  go  ;  and  as  we  are  on  our  way,  I  will  tell 
you  something  about  our  "  circle,"  and  how  I,  little  J, 
came  to  be  a  member  of  so  august  a  body.  It  was  on  this 
wise.  The  good  people  discovered  that  I  took  the  news- 
papers ;  not  a  very  common  thing  in  Timberville,  where  it 
is  usually  as  much  as  the  inhabitants  can  "  aiford"  to  take 
some  one  of  the  village  papers,  of  which  we  have  three  — 
organs  of  the  three  political  parties  of  the  place  —  and 
which  blaze  away  at  each  other  with  a  zeal  worthy  the 
cause,  and  in  a  style  equal  to  any  of  the  city  organs. 
Young  Mr.  Morgan,  the  head  clerk  at  the  post-office,  was 
the  first  person  who  promulgated  the  important  fact.  He 
told  Miss  Carpenter,  and  Miss  Carpenter,  who  is  a  member 
oftheliterary  circle,  announced,  at  the  next  meeting  of  that 
society,  that  there  was  a  lady  boarding  at  Mrs.  Pratt's  who 
took  no  less  than  four  papers ;  Mr.  Morgan  told  her  so 
26 


302  LETTERS  FROM   TIMBERVILLE. 

himself;  and  she  was  sure  I  must  be  of  a  decidedly  literary 
turn.  In  fact,  she  had  her  suspicions  that  I  was  the  author- 
ess of  certain  sonnets  signed  *'  Euphrasia,"  which  had 
been  copied  into  the  « '  Timberville  Weekly  Gazette  and 
People's  Advocate.'  If  so,  I  would  be  quite  an  acquisition 
to  the  "  circle."  (Miss  Carpenter  herself  perpetrates 
poetry,  and  is  considered  quite  hlue.')  The  other  members 
thought  that  if  I  was  not  a  literary  character,  I  must  at  least 
be  nVA,  or  I  could  not  afford  to  take  so  many  papers,  not- 
withstanding I  seemed  to  be  living  in  such  a  plain,  private 
way.  In  either  case,  they  decided  that  it  would  be  safe  to 
invite  me  to  attend  the  circle. 

In  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  I  was  waited  upon  by 
Miss  Carpenter  and  Mrs.  Stokes,  and  favored  with  a  very 
learned  conversation,  kept  up  principally  by  Miss  Car- 
penter. Mrs.  Stokes  is  not  particularly  literary  —  she 
owes  her  membership  to  her  very  large  parlors  and  great 
skill  in  getting  up  a  variety  of  refreshments. 

On  rising  to  take  leave,  the  ladies  (as  is  the  custom  in 
Timberville)  apologized  most  vehemently  for  not  having 
called  before,  and  urged  me  very  strongly  to  return  their 
visit  very  soon  ;  and  Mrs.  Stokes,  after  Miss  Carpenter 
had  winked  hard  at  her  several  times,  to  indicate  that  she 
was  the  proper  person  to  perform  the  office,  invited  me  to 
attend  a  literary  sawree  at  her  residence  on  the  ensuing 
evening.  Which  Miss  Carpenter  followed  up  with  the  re- 
mark that  she  hoped  I  might  find  it  "  a  desirable  relief 
from  the  undi versified  monotony  of  a  boarding  life."  Or 
it  might,  as  in  her  own  case,  *'  afford  a  relaxation  to  tlie 
mind  after  severer  application  and  more  profound  occupa- 
tion, to  indulge  for  a  time  in  the  perusal  of  the  lighter 
literature  of  the  day." 


LETTERS  FR03I  TIMBERVILLE.  3dB 

I  attended  the  sawree,  (as  Mrs.  Stokes  called  It,)  and 
being  soon  after  elected  a  member,  have  been  quite  regular 
in  my  attendance  since.  And  I  assure  you  It  Is,  as  Miss 
Carpenter  predicted,  a  relief  to  my  mind  and  an  amuse- 
ment to  my  head,  to  come  In  contact  with  the  variety  of 
characters  which  I  there  meet. 

But  here  we  are.  Sit  down  beside  me  on  this  sofa  ;  the 
members  are  not  all  here  yet,  and  we  shall  have  a  little 
time  to  chat  before  we  are  called  to  order. 

That  short,  dumpy  lady,  who  Is  bobbing  about  in  a  very 
stiff  silk  dress  flounced  nearly  to  the  waist,  is  our  hostess, 
Mrs.  Bolton.  She  is  a  great  patroness  of  literature,  and 
herself  a  personage  of  remarkable  erudition,  and  exces- 
sively fond  of  reading.  As  she  expresses  it,  she  liter arilij 
devours  her  favorite  authors.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
she  knows  the  names  of  a  good  many  authors,  and  a  good 
many  books,  though  she  does  not  always  match  them  quite 
correctly.  She  thinks  that  Dean  Swift  has  some  genius  ; 
his  ' '  Rasselas  "  Is  a  proof  of  it ;  but  it  is  a  great  pity  that 
he  ever  wrote  so  vulgar  a  book  as  "  Don  Quixote."  She 
says  that  Byron's  *'  Deserted  Village  "  interests  her  sympa- 
thies exceedingly,  although  the  majority  of  critics  pro- 
nounce his  "John  Gilpin"  his  master-piece.  She  has  a 
perfect- passion  for  Milton's  "  Tasso  "  and  "  Dante,"  and 
actually  dotes  on  his  "  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

Such  being  her  acquirements,  she,  of  course,  is  very 
capable  of  discovering  and  appreciating  literary  qualifica- 
tions In  others.  She  delights  in  drawing  modest  merit 
from  obscurity,  and  In  giving  bashful  genius  a  boost.  It  Is 
through  her  Instrumentality  that  Mr.  Boors,  the  alarmed 
young  man  who  sits  in  the  corner  staring  so  hard  at 
vacancy,  and  Miss  Quince,  the  young  lady  with  a  projecting 


304  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

forehead  and  long  ringlets,  who  is, bending  over  the  table 
as  completely  absorbed  in  a  volume  of  Mrs.  Hemans,  as 
if  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  the  work,  have  been 
introduced  to  the  notice  of  the  Timbervllle  literati.  These 
two  individuals  are  great  admirers  of  Mrs.  Bolton,  who 
protests  that  Mr.  Boors  is  a  very  Intellectual  young  man, 
and  that  Miss  Quince  has  a  great  deal  of  talent.  Neither 
of  them  has  as  yet  made  any  display  of  ability ;  for  Mr. 
Boors  invariably  sits  all  the  evening  just  as  he  is  now, 
and  Miss  Quince  never  speaks  excepting  in  monosyllables. 
Probably  they  both,  like  the  celebrated  owl,  keep  up  a 
tremendous  thinking. 

The  tall  lady,  with  a  very  long  neck  and  little  waist,  is 
Miss  Carpenter,  our  cerulean  sonnet  writer. 

The  pretty  girl  with  a  white  rose  in  her  hair,  is  Miss 
Carrol,  the  sweetest  singer  in  Timberville.  She  is  a  belle, 
and  a  wit  withal.  There  is  a  lawlessness  about  her  which 
would  hardly  be  tolerated  in  any  one  but  a  beauty  and  a 
belle.  And  yet  I  like  the  girl  for  her  truthfulness.  The 
would-be-dignified  gentleman  who  sits  beside  her,  is  Mr. 
Griffin,  her  warmest  admirer  and  most  especial  butt.  He 
is  a  critic;  a  very  severe  one,  too.  He  is  never  satisfied 
with  anything  produced  in  the  circle.  Indeed,  I  believe 
there  is  but  one  composition  in  the  world  that  he  admires 
without  qualification,  and  that  is  Poe's  "  Kaven."  He 
never  writes  for  us  ;  but  he  is  so  very  fastidious  that,  of 
course,  we  all  think  he  can  do  wonders  if  he  will  but  con- 
descend. And  Miss  Carrol  is  constantly  teasing  him  to 
favor  us  with  something  ravenous. 

Those  two  gentlemen  conversing  together  are  rival 
editors.  The  short,  fat  one,  he  who  has  what  a  facetious 
friend  of  mine  calls  ii  vegetable  countenance^  i.  e.,  turn-up 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  305 

nose,  reddish  complexion,  and  carroty  whiskers,  is  the 
celebrated  individual  whose  voice,  thundering  through  the 
columns  of  the  ' '  Timberville  Herald  of  Liberty  and  Free- 
man's Journal,"  makes  monarchs  tremble,  thrones  totter, 
and  Old  Hunkers  shake  in  their  shoes.  His  tall,  thin 
neighbor  occupies  the  chair  editorial  of  the  "  Timberville 
Weekly  Gazette  and  People's  Advocate."  (Our  papers, 
like  our  people,  all  have  double  names.)  How  delightful 
to  see  the  urbanity  with  which  they  can  meet.  It  seems 
hardly  possible  that  they  have  just  been  tearing  each  other 
to  pieces  at  such  a  terrible  rate,  *'  through  the  medium  of 
the  press." 

The  gentleman  who  is  just  entering  the  room,  with  a 
linen  roundabout,  and  his  pants  tucked  inside  of  his  boots, 
is  Mr.  Bolton,  the  ivorser  half  of  our  hostess,  and  a  horse- 
dealer  by  profession.  He  couldn't  spend  time  to  change 
his  dress  ;  it  was  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  come  in  at  all. 
It  is  true  that  Mrs.  Bolton,  who  is  not  very  proud  of  her 
unintellectual  spouse,  has  repeatedly  assured  him  that  there 
was  no  necessity  for  his  coming  in  this  evening  ;  he  needn't 
trouble  himself,  &c.,  c&c.  Still,  Mr.  Bolton,  who  is  a 
kind-hearted  man,  thought  he  would  just  come  in  long 
enough  to  say  how  d'ye  do,  and  let  his  neighbors  know 
that  he  was  glad  to  see  them  at  his  house.  Poor  Mrs. 
Bolton  !  she  looks  perfectly  consterned  at  his  appearance. 
Her  countenance  says  very  plainly,  *<  Won't  he  catch  it 
for  coming  to  the  sawree  in  such  a  fix  !  He  might,  at 
least,  have  put  on  his  best  clothes."  But  he  seems  wholly 
unconscious  of  her  fiery  glances,  as  he  makes  for  a  chair, 
and  poising  himself  miraculously  on  one  of  its  legs,  begins 
to  descant  to  Mr.  Martin  on  the  excellence  of  **  them 
bosses  he  sold  Snyder." 

26* 


306  LETTERS  FROM   TIMBERVILLE. 

The  tall,  pale  youth,  with  huge  whiskers,  who  stands 
gracefully  leaning  on  the  mantel,  is  Mr.  Fustian,  a  sere- 
nader  by  profession  ;  at  least,  I  have  never  heard  of  his 
doing  anything  else.  He  has  great  powers  of  endurance  ; 
for,'  I  am  told,  that  he  thinks  nothing  of  standing  two 
hours,  of  a  cold  night,  under  Miss  Carrol's  window, 
executing  music.  Miss  Carrol  tidnlcs  notldng  of  it,  too. 
She  declares  that  she  sleeps  through  it  all. 

Those  two  somewhat  antiquated  young  ladies,  with  low 
necks  and  bare  arms,  whom  he  is  entertaining,  or,  rather, 
who  are  entertaining  him,  are  the  sisters  Caroline  and  Lucy 
Bigelow ;  or,  as  they  call  each  other,  **  Carry  and  Lute." 
They  affect  great  juvenility,  though  nobody  remembers 
when  they  were  young,  and  are  fond  of  talking  about 
*'us  girls."  They  have  a  Brother  Peter  somewhere  in 
New  England,  who,  according  to  their  account,  is  enor- 
mously wealthy,  and  lives  in  princely  style.  *' Brother 
Peter's  establishment "  is  the  constant  and  almost  only 
theme  of  their  conversation.  **  Brother  Peter's  garden  ;  " 
"  Brother  Peter's  conservatory ;  "  '^Brother Peter's  library  ;  " 
in  short,  everything  at  Brother  Peter's  is  on  so  magnificent 
a  scale,  that  "Carry  "and  **Lute"  can  never  see  any- 
thing that  suits  them  anywhere  else.  Even  Mrs.  Bolton, 
who  admires  their  taste  and  refinement  exceedingly,  thinks 
they  have  almost  too  much  **  fastidium."  They  occasion- 
ally write,  and  their  articles  are  always  descriptive  of  some- 
thing at  "  Brother  Peter's." 

That  tall  brunette,  in  black,  is  Miss  Mary  Willis.  I 
never  made  up  my  mind  that  she  was  handsome,  until  she 
adopted  the  **  French  twist,"  and  really  looked  well  in  it ; 
for,  certainly,  it  must  be  a  handsome  face  that  can  stand 
the  test  of  a  coiffure  so  universally  unbecoming.     She  is  a 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  307 

very  quiet,  retiring  girl.  Many  persons  think  her  proud; 
but  I  do  not,  and  I  think  that  I  have  penetrated  her  char- 
acter quite  thoroughly.  If  Mary  Willis  is  proud,  I  could 
wish  that  such  pride  were  contagious. 

The  thin,  peaked  lookSng  woman,  to  whom  Mary  Is  talk- 
ing, is  Mrs.  Stokes.  She  is  a  very  nice  woman  —  as  the 
TImbervillians  say.  She  does  not  look  as  If  she  partook 
very  largely  of  the  good  things  which  she  knows  how  to 
prepare  in  such  perfection,  and  with  which  she  is  always 
cramming  her  friends.  As  I  before  remarked,  she  makes 
no  pretensions  to  literary  merit  herself,  but  she  is  a  great 
admirer  of  it  in  others,  and  praises,  indiscriminately,  every- 
thing that  Is  produced  or  read  in  the  circle.  She  pro- 
nounces all  the  prose  articles  '*  first-rate,"  and  all  the 
poetry  *'  sublime."  Mrs.  Bolton  has  not  a  very  high 
opinion  of  Mrs.  Stokes,  but  hopes  that  the  "  sawrees  will 
be  an  advantao;e  to  her  intelleck." 

But  my  letter  Is  already  unreasonably  long.  If  you  are 
at  all  Interested  in  our  society,  perhaps  I  may  be  able  In 
my  next  to  give  you  some  specimens  of  our  productions. 
And  I  can  scarcely  entertain  a  doubt  that  you  will  hence- 
forth be  interested  in  the  sayings  and  doings  of  Timber- 
ville,  since  you  know  that  we  are  a  very  Important  people, 
and  shall  undoubtedly  be  a  city  In  a  few  years. 


308  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 


II. 

TiMBERVILLE. 

AM  getting  tired  of  boarding  —  there  are  so  many 
annoyances  connected  with  it  generally.  And  even 
in  the  best-regulated  boarding-houses  there  is  a  lack 
of  that  pleasant  home-feeling  which  one  has  in 
housekeeping,  even -though  it  be  in  a  hired  house.  If  we 
were  determined  to  "locate"  (as  the  Timbervillians  say) 
permanently  in  this  place,  we  should  have  a  home  of  our 
own.  Until  that  point  is  decided,  we  shall  remain  with 
Mrs.  Pratt,  for  I  would  rather  endure  a  great  many  incon- 
veniences than  to  be  changing  about.  I  have  often  been 
amused  at  the  frivolous  causes  which  drive  some  persons 
from  one  boarding-house  to  another.  I  know  one  gentle- 
man who  never  stays  above  a  month,  and  seldom  as  long 
as  that,  at  the  same  house.  At  one  place  he  had  to  drink 
milk  in  his  tea ;  he  hadn't  been  used  to  it,  and  wouldn't 
put  up  with  it.  At  another,  his  nose  was  often  oifended 
at  the  odor  of  boiled  cabbage  ;  he  didn't  like  cabbage,  and 
he  wouldn't  stand  it. 

Mrs.  Pratt's  establishment  is  conducted  on  the  most 
economical  scale.  Slie  understands  to  perfection  the  art  of 
making  much  of  a  little.  She  know^  how  to  *'  stretch  out," 
and  make  a  very  small  quantity  "go  a  great  ways." 
She  is  a  widow  of  some  years'  standing,  but  has  not  yet 
cease(F*to  grieve  for  her  worthy  husband.      She  is  forever 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  309 

expatiating  on  his  perfections.     To  hear  her  talk  of  him, 
you  would  suppose  that  all  the  virtues  as  well  as  talents 
that  were  ever  created,  were  united  in  the  person  of  "  poor 
Mr.  Pratt."     The  grand  object  of  her  life  seems  to  be  to 
marry  oiF  her  two  daughters,  Ann  Maria  and  Philura,  a 
brace  of  young  ladies  who  expend  upon  their  fair  persons 
the  products  of  their  mother's  thrift,   and  who  appear  to 
serve  no  other  purpose  in  the  establishment  than  that  of 
entertaining  the  youHg  gentlemen  boarders.     They  never 
make    their  appearance  at  breakfast,  but    at   dinner   they 
burst  upon  us  in  all  their  glory,  looking  as  if  they  had 
spent  tiie  w^hole  morning  at  the  toilet.     They  are  rather 
pretty  girls,   and  with  the  exercise  of  a  tolerable  taste  in 
dress,  would  look  very  well ;  but  they  are  always  arrayed 
in  showy  frocks,  gaudy  sashes,  flaring  neck-ribbons,  and, 
to  crown  all,  some  sort  of  trumpery  head-dresses,  and  all 
of  different  colors,  so  that  it  really  makes  my  eyes  ache  to 
look  at  them.     The  head-dresses,  above  all,  are  my  espe- 
cial abomination.     I  can  scarcely  keep  my  fingers  oflf  them, 
they  make  me  so  nervous.     But  they  are  young  ladles  to 
whom  it  would  not  be  safe  for  a  plain  person  like  me  to 
offer  a  suggestion  on  the  subject  of  dress.      They  take  but 
little  notice  of  me,  and  make  no  efforts  to  render  my  abode 
wdth  them  pleasant,  but  reserve  all  their  attentions  for  the 
young  men,  who  always  find  them."  very  easy  to  get  ac- 
quainted with."     That  part  of  their  time  which  is  not  de- 
voted to  dressing,  calling  and  shopping,  is  spent  in  drum- 
ming the  piano,  on  which  they  do  great  execution^  and  in 
embroidering  slippers  or  netting  purses  for  the  gentlemen. 
There  are,  at  present,  six  single  gentlemen  boarding  in 
Mrs.  Pratt's  family  —  Mr.  Wilkins,  a  rich  old  w^ower, 
very  cross  and  very  asthmatic,  —  an  object  of  tender  solic- 


310  LETTJERS  FROM  TLMBERVILLE. 

itude  to  Ann  Maria,  who  takes  a  vast  deal  of  pains  to  make 
him  comfortable,  though  he  does  not  appear  to  appreciate 
it;  Mr.  Stivers  and  Mr.  Green,  a  couple  of  merchants' 
clerks,  with  nothing  remarkable  about  them  excepting 
standing  collars  so  stiff  that  they  cannot  turn  their  heads 
without  turning  their  bodies  also  ;  Mr.  Hocum,  a  lumber- 
man, who  minds  his  own  business  and  never  says  anything  ; 
Mr.  Bunker,  a  sort  of  '*  Jack  at 'all  trades,"  a  dealer  in 
everything,  an  inventor  of  a  great  variety  of  useless  articles, 
for  which  he  gets  patents  —  he  also  fills  the  office  of  re- 
porter to  the  neighborhood,  and  brings  home  every  day  all 
the  scandal  and  gossip  afloat  in  the  village ;  and  Monsieur 
Laborde,  a  French  teacher,  full  of  whims  and  oddities, 
such  as  rolling  his  hair  in  papers  over  night  to  make  them 
curl ;  exercising  his  lungs  out  of  his  window,  to  the  great 
alarm  of  passers-by  ;  cooking  all  sorts  of  ridiculous  messes 
on  the  top  of  the  parlor  stove ;  w^earing  a  great  many 
brown  paper  soles  in  his  slippers,  and  spreading  them  out 
on  the  rug  every  evening  to  dry,  —  and  a  hundred  other 
peculiarities. 

Besides  the  two  daughters,  Mrs.  Pratt  has  also  a  son, 
a  boy  of  some  twelve  years  old,  who,  for  want  of  proper 
training,  had  grown  to  be,  when  we  first  came  here,  a 
complete  little  nuisance.  His  sisters  considered  him  a 
plague  and  a  torment;  and  his  mother  declared,  with  a 
rueful  shake  of  the  head,  that  she  didn't  know  what  she 
should  do  with  Joe,  he  had  got  to  be  so  unmanageable  — 
no  comfort  to  her  at  all,  so  different  from  what  his  poor 
father  was.  These  lamentations,  which  were  usually  de- 
livered in  the  boy's  presence,  did  not  contribute  materially 
to  his  improvement.  In  fact,  he  was  universally  disliked. 
Tlie  boarders  were  unanimous  in  the  opinion  that  he  was 


LETTERS  FRO 31  TIMBERYILLE.  311 

destitute  of  one  single  redeeming  quality.  He  played  all 
sorts  of  tricks  upon  them,  and  they  never  passed  him  with- 
out a  kick  or  an  oath.  Particularly  obnoxious  was  he  to 
Monsieur  Laborde,  who  pronounced  him  *' one  leetle 
tliiible." 

When  we  came  to  Mrs.  Pratt's  we  heard  so  much  about 
Joe's  precocious  wickedness  that  we  almost  feared  to  be 
under  the  same  roof  with  him.  One  morning,  a  few  days 
after  our  arrival,  as  we  were  going  through  the  hall  to 
breakfast,  Monsieur  rushed  from  his  room  just  ahead  of  us, 
and  with  a  ferocious  aspect,  hurried  down  the  stairs.  On 
his  way,  he  encountered  Nancy,  the  chambermaid,  going 
up  to  *'  regulate." 

*'  Nancie,"  said  he,  showing  her  something  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand,  "  what  you  call  dis  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  Nancy,  who  has  a  spice  of  the  wag  in  her 
—  '*  oh,  that's  ix  picliaxe.^^ 

*' Peek-axe,"  said  the  Frenchman,  throwino-  it  down: 
and,  as  he  proceeded,  he  kept  repeating — '<  peek-axe, 
peek-axe,"  so  as  to  impress  it  firmly  upon  his  memory. 
When  he  reached  the  breakfast-room,  where  the  rest  of  the 
boarders  were  assembled,  and  Mrs.  Pratt,  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  was  just  beginning  to  make  the  coffee,  he  bounced 
in,  and  without  any  of  his  usual  French  fuss,  shouted  — 
"Madame  Pratt,  I  have  suffer  one  grand  insult  I  Peek- 
axe  !  Sho  have  insult  me  in  ma  chambre.  Peek- axe  !  It  is 
one  miserable  shild,  dat  Sho." 

*'  The  dear  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pratt,  '*  what  shall 
I  do  with  that  boy  ?  He'll  be  the  death  of  me  yet.  What 
has  he  been  doing  now  ?  " 

' '  He  have  insult  me  ver  bad,"  continued  Monsieur.  ' '  It 
is  5ne  leetle  diable.  If  I  could  keel  him,  I  would  be  sat- 
isfait." 


312  LETTERS  FROM   TLMBERVILLE. 

'*  That  I  should  live  to  see  the  day  I "  groaned  Mrs. 
Pratt.  *'Pra3^,  what  has  he  done,  Mr.  Laborde?  I'll 
punish  —  " 

<'  VYhat  have  he  done?"  said  the  Frenchman.  *'He 
have  done  plentie,  te  miserable  —  he  have  trow  more  as 
five  hondred  peek-axe  in  ^te  window  of  ma  chambre. 
AVhile  I  shave  ma  barbe,  I  understand  a  noise  by  the 
window;  one  moment  apres,  I  am  convert  de  peek-axe." 

"  Pickaxes  1  "  exclaimed  the  distressed  mother.  **  For- 
ever and  ever  !     What  would  poor  Mr.  Pratt  say?  " 

"  Pickaxes  !  "  cried  the  gentlemen.  "  Impossible  !  It 
can't  be  so  !  " 

' '  Do  you  not  believe  that  I  say  ?  "  demanded  Monsieur, 
gesticulating  violently.  "  Well,  den,  come  to  ma  cham- 
bre, and  you  shall  see." 

So  we  all,  excepting  Mrs.  Pratt,*  whose  feelings  would 
not  allow  her  to  move,  followed  Monsieur  to  ,his  room, 
where  we  found  Nancy,  with  a  dust-pan  and  wing,  busily 
engaged  in  brushing  up  a  quantity  of  small  shot,  with  which 
Joe  had  besieged  the  French  fortress. 

"  There,"  said  j^arlcz-vo^iz ^  "  you  can  see  for  yourselve  ; 
peek-axe,  plentie  peek-axe." 

The  boarders  raised  a  tremendous  roar  at  Monsieur's  ex- 
pense, in  the  midst  of  which  Nancy  made  a  rapid  exit. 
The  Frenchman  was  furiously  angry  at  being  laughed  at, 
and  fearing  that  something  serious  might  come  of  it,  I  re- 
treated to  my  own  quarters.  I  believe  that  only  two  or 
three  of  the  boarders  returned  to  the  table,  so  that  Mrs. 
Pratt  saved  a  good  part  of  the  breakfast  to  warm  iip  the  j 
next  morning. 

After  this  performance,  my  husband  proposed  seeking 
another  boarding-house,  as  there  was  no  telling  how  soon 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  313 

Master  Joe  might  begin  to  play  off  his  pranks  upon  us. 
But  I  objected  to  removing,  and  begged  him  to  leave  me  to 
manage  Joe.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  a  sort  of  sympathy 
for  the  child,  to  which,  perhaps,  certain  recollections  of 
my  own  juvenile  experience  contributed  In  some  degree. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  I  felt  a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  un- 
popular boy,  and  to  discover,  if  possible,  whether  there 
was  any  good  In  him. 

A  day  or  two  after  this  affair,  at  the  tea-table,  Mr. 
Bunker  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  dirty  piece  of  paper,  on 
which  was  scratched,  in  charcoal,  a  profile  considerably  re- 
sembling his  own,  which  is  distinguished  by  a  very  lono- 
nose  and  huge  whiskers ;  and  holding  it  up  before  Mrs. 
Pratt,  exclaimed  — 

"  Look  o'  there,  ma'am  !  — that's  Joe's  work  !  I  found 
it  stuck  up  on  my  store,  right  In  plain  sight.  If  that  boy 
ain't  a  fit  subject  for  the  House  of  Refuge,  I  don't  know 
who  is  I  " 

**  Forever  and  ever!"  cried  Mrs.  Pratt.  «*  That  I 
should  live  to  hear  of  his  doing  such  a  thing  !  What  is 
that  child  a  coming  to,  after  all  my  faithfulness  too  !  Why, 
I've  wrestled  In  prayer  for  him  hours  together,  and  a'most 
whipped  the  skin  off  his  back,  and  all  for  nothing  !  What 
would  his  poor  father  say  ?  "  &c. 

While  Mrs.  Pratt  was  groaning  and  lamenting,  the  work 
of  art  was  handed  round,  and  elicited  various  comments 
from  the  beholders.  The  young  ladies  declared  that,  if 
they  were  Mr.  Bunker,  they  wouldn't  care  a  cent  about  it, 
for  It  didn't  look  a  bit  like  him. 

"  I  don't  care  a  cent  about  It,"  said  Bunker ;  "  only  I'd 
like  to  have  the  handling  of  that  boy." 

Monsieur,  who  was  still  smarting  under  the  pickaxes, 

27 


314  LETTERS    FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

pronounced  it  a  "  grand  Insult."  But  the  other  young 
men,  always  delighted  at  a  chance  to  tease  one  another, 
thought  it  "  a  pretty  fair  likeness."  *'  It's  Bunker,"  said 
Mr.  Stivers  ;  '' only  wio?'e  5o."  "  Precisement,"  said  Mon- 
sieur, beginning  to  relish  the  joke,  and  glad  of  an  opportu- 
nity to  laugh  at  Bunker.  *'  Precisement  —  it  is  the  nose  of 
Mr.  Bunker  a  leetle  more  long,  and  the  whiskers  of 
Mr.  Bunker  a  leetle  more  big." 

Bunker  looked  as  if  he  wished  he  had  not  exhibited  the 
likeness,  since  it  had  been  the  means  of  "  getting  the  rig- 
on  him,"  as  they  call  it  here.  But  he  was  somewhat 
mollified  by  Mrs.  Pratt's  assurance  that  she  should  punish 
Joe  severely. 

In  the  evening,  my  room  being  very  warm,  I  had  thrown 
open  the  door,  and  sat  meditating  upon  Joe  and  his  per- 
formances, when  I  heard  Mrs.  Pratt  in  the  dining-room 
dealino'  with  that  youno;  gentleman  in  a  most  summarv' 
manner;  scolding  him  at  a  terrible  rate,  and  interspersing 
her  lecture  with  frequent  cuffs  on  the  ears. 

*' You  miserable  young  one!"  said  she.  "You'll  be 
the  death  of  me  yet,  I  know  you  will  —  (cufF)  —  you're 
all  the  time  a  doing  something  so  awful  wicked —  (cuff.) 
'What  did  you  go  and  make  Mr.  Bunker's  likeness  for, 
say?  "—(cuff.) 

"  'Cause  he  misused  me,"  said  Joe.  ''  He  don't  treat 
me  like  a  human  being  ;  and  nobody  else  don't,  neither." 

*' Well,  you  don't  act  like  a  human  being,"  said  his 
mother,  with  another  cuff;  "  and  you  ought  not  to  be 
treated  like  one.  What  did3'0u  want  to  draw  that  shame- 
ful profile  for  —  say  ?  "  and  she  administered  three  succes- 
sive cuffs. 

"  I  tell  you  I  did  It  because  he  misused  mc,"  said  Joe. 


LETTERS   FROM   TIMBERVILLE.  315 

**  He  knocked  me  off  his  store  steps  on  to  the  ground, 
when  I  wasn't  a  doing  anything." 

"Yes  —  I'll  warrant  you  wasn't  a  doing  anything," 
said  his  mother;  "  you  ain't  never  a  doing  anything,  you 
good-for-nothing,  lazy,  idle  little  wretch  !  You'll  never 
be  nobody  —  you'll  grow  up  a  miserable  vagabone  !  And 
what  would  your  poor  father  say  if  he  knew  how  you  was 
a  breaking  my  heart  every  day? —  (Several  cuffs.)  So 
now,  just  take  off  your  boots,  and  go  'long  to  bed  ;  and  if 
ever  I  hear  of  your  drawing  any  more  profiles,  I'll  give 
it  to  you  about  east !  " 

The  scolding  and  the  cuffs  alike  seemed  to  make  no 
impression  upon  Joe.  His  ears  were,  doubtless,  inured 
to  both.  As  he  was  passing  my  door  on  the  way  to  his 
own  dormitory,  I  called  him.  He  half  paused,  and  was 
going  on,  when  I  called  him  again.  He  stopped,  looked 
furtively  over  his  shoulder,  and  said  — 

**  I  hain't  done  anything  to  you,  have  I?" 

Without  noticing  his  question,  I  repeated,  "  Come  here, 
Joe,  I  want  to  show  you  something."  He  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  reassured  by  my  countenance,  with  a  look 
of  bewildered  astonishment,  advanced  into  the  room.  A 
new  magazine,  containing  several  fine  engravings,  was 
lying  by  me  on  the  table.  I  opened  it.  *'  Joe,"  said  I, 
*'  I  believe  you  are  fond  of  pictures ;  here  are  some  good 
ones  that  I  think  you  would  like  to  look  at."  He  came 
forward  and  looked  at  the  plates  ;  but  it  was  some  time 
before  I  succeeded,  by  talking  about  the  engravings  and 
pointing  out  their  merits,  in  making  him  feel  at  ease.  After 
he  had  recovered  from  his  surprise,  he  became  quite  inter- 
ested in  the  pictures,  rubbed  off  his  dirty  fingers  on  his  still 
dirtier  trowsers,  and  began  to  turn  over  the  leaves  himself. 


316  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

"  This  book,"  said  he,  **  looks  just  like  one  that  Mr. 
Green  gave  Philura ;  but  the  pictures  are  different.  She 
wouldn't  let  me  look  at  it,  but  I  got  hold  of  it  once  when 
they'd  gone  away,  and  looked  at  it  ever  so  long,  and  she 
don't  know  it  yet." 

"  Joe,^'  said  I,  '*  you  remind  me  of  my  nephew  Johnny. 
You  are  just  about  his  age  and  size.  Johnny  is  very  fond 
of  pictures,  and  he  draws  them  too.  Do  you  ever  draw 
pictures,  Joe?  " 

"  Me  !  "  said  Joe.  ''  No,  not  good  ones  ;  I  don't  know 
how." 

' '  Would  you  like  to  learn  to  draw  ?  "  said  I. 

*'  Gracious  !  I  couldn't  learn,"  said  he. 

«'  Why  could  you  not  learn?"  I  asked. 

*'  O  because  I  can't  learn  anything,"  replied  the  child, 
with  a  very  decided  look. 

"  Do  you  go  to  school?"  I  inquired. 

*'  Not  now,"  said  Joe.  *'  I've  been  to  school ;  but  the 
master  turned  me  out  because,  he  said,  I  couldn't  learn 
anything  if  he  should  try  to  flog  it  into  me  till  doomsday." 

' '  But  would  you  like  to  learn  to  draw  if  you  could  ?  " 
asked  I. 

*'  Yes,  I  would  most  plaguily,"  replied  Joe.  "  I  always 
thoudit  I  should  like  to." 

I  knew  the  boy's  capacity,  from  the  "  charcoal  sketch" 
of  Bunker's  head,  which  really  possessed  a  good  deal  of 
character  ;  quite  as  much  as  the  original  —  so  I  said  — 

"  I  think  you  could  learn,  Joe.  If  you  have  a  mind  to 
try,  I  will  teach  you." 

The  child  looked  up  suddenly,  and  after  regarding  me  a 
moment  with  an  expression  of  wonder,  said,  — 

**  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mrs.  Waters?" 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  317 

*<  Certainly,"  said  I.  "I  used  to  like  very  much  to 
teach  Johnny,  and  I  will  be  glad  to  teach  you."  I  then 
took  from  a  portfolio  one  of  my  drawings,  and  asked  him 
if  he  would  like  to  draw  that.  It  was  a  rough  sketch  of 
some  children  and  a  dog.  Joe  was  delighted  with  it ;  and 
said  he  would  give  anything  to  know  how  to  make  such  a 
picture.  I  told  him  to  come  to  my  room  every  morning, 
and  I  would  give  him  lessons. 

*'You  will  though?"  said  he.  "O  how  I  wish  I 
could  come  —  but  I  darsent  —  mother'll  whale  me  if  I  do. 
She  says  I  sha'nt  go  into  the  boarders'  rooms  at  all." 

*'  But  if  I  invite  you  she'll  not  object,  will  she?  " 

*'  I  don't  know,"  said  Joe,  shaking  his  head,  sorrow- 
fully. '*  I  guess  she'd  whale  me  anyhow;  but  no  matter 
if  she  does  —  I'm  used  to  whalin'." 

*'  O  no,  Joe,"  said  I ;  "if  your  mother  were  really  un- 
willing, I  would  not  have  you  come  on  any  account.  But 
I  think  that  if  I  ask  her  permission  to  teach  you,  she  will 
grant  it.  I  shall  go  down  presently  and  speak  to  her 
about  it ;  and  if  she  consents,  you  may  come  in  to-morrow 
morning  at  ten  o'clock.  And  remember,  Joe,  you  must 
have  very  clean  hands,  so  as  not  to  soil  the  paper  — 
Johnny  was  always  particular  to  wash  his  hands  very  clean 
when  he  was  going  to  draw.  And  now  you  may  go  to 
bed.      Good-night,  Joe." 

'«  Good -night,  Mrs.  Waters,"  said  Joe.  '*  I  hope 
mother'll  say  I  may  come." 

After  Joe  had  retired,  I  went  down  stairs  and  spoke  to 
Mrs.  Pratt.  I  told  her  that  I  thought  Joe  had  quite  a 
turn  for  drawing,  and  with  her  permission  I  would  like  to 
give  him  lessons.  She  was  rather  alarmed  at  first,  and 
said  that  she  wasn't  in  the  habit  of  taking  anything  but 
27* 


318  LETTERS  FROM  TDIBERVILLE. 

money  for  board.  But  when  I  assured  her  that  it  was  for 
pleasure,  not  for  pay,  that  I  wished  to  teach  Joe,  the  mat- 
ter assumed  quite  a  different  aspect  in  her  eye,  though  her 
astonishment  was  evidently  increased.  She  freely  consen- 
ted, though  she  could  not  imagine  what  pleasure  it  would 
afford  me  to  try  to  teach  such  a  child  as  Joe.  She  never 
could  do  anything  with  him.  She  was  completely  dis- 
couraged about  him.  It  was  the  strangest  thing  in  the 
world,  too,  that  he  wasn't  a  better  boy,  considering  how 
faithful  she'd  been  to  him.  Nobody  could  say  he  had  been 
ruined  by  indulgence.     Very  true,  nobody  could. 

As  I  was  returning  to  my  room,  I  perceived  the  form  of 
Joe  emerging  from  a  small  passage  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 
He  was  partial/y  disrobed,  (as  the  novels  say) ,  and  hold- 
ing up  his  trowsers  with  both  hands. 

*'  What  did  she  say?"  inquired  he,  eagerly. 

-"  She  says  that  you  may  come,"  I  replied. 

"  Good!"  shouted  Joe,  clapping  his  hands,  quite  for- 
getful of  the  office  they  were  performing.  **  Good  !  — 
then  she  can't  whale  me ;  and  when  I  ca?i  get  along  v/ith- 
out  being  whaled,  I'd  rather." 

The  next  morning,  at  ten  o'clock  precisely,  came  Joe, 
with  a  pair  of  hands  that  fairly  shone  from  the  effects  of 
the  scouring  which  he  had  given  them. 

"  Good-morning,  Joe,"  said  I;"  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
punctual :   a  great  deal  depends  upon  punctuality." 

It  was  a  rare  thing  for  poor  Joe  to  be  praised,  and  his 
eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure.  To  shorten  my  narrative, 
Joe's  progVess  in  drawing  was  rapid  beyond  my  anticipa- 
tions ;  never  was  pupil  more  docile.  Gradually,  I  added 
a  i'cw  more  branches,  and  he  has  entered  with  alacrity  into 
every  study  tluit  I   proposed,  though  he  seems  to  prefer 


LETTERS  FROM   TIMBERVILLE.  319 

drawin"-  to  anything  else.  Unbounded  was  the  astonish- 
ment of  his  worthy  mother  at  my  success.  She  wished 
ihvit  poor  Mr,  Pratt  was  alive  to  see  it.  The  boarders  too, 
when  they  had  discovered  that  I  had  taken  Joe  under  my 
patronage,  ceased  to  abuse  him,  and  he  has  consequently 
left  off  his  annoying  tricks.  Even  Monsieur  allows  that 
there  is  a  "  grand  changement  in  Sho."  And  1  find  the 
hour  which  I  daily  devote  to  him  more  than  repaid  by  the 
affection  of  the  hitherto  neglected  child  for  me  —  his  first 
friend  —  the  first  one  who  taught  him  that  he  was  neither 
a  fool  nor  a  wretch.  In  short,  Mrs.  Pratt  begins  to  think 
that  her  faithfulness  will  be  rewarded,  her  prayers  will  be 
answered,  and  that  Joe  will  be  something  after  all. 

Evening  —  Mary  Wilhs  has  sent  me  this  afternoon  a 
little  piece  for  our  next  literary  circle.  I  am  one  of  the 
appointed  readers  for  the  occasion,  and  Mary  is  too  diffi- 
dent to  read  her  own  productions.  Here  is  an  extract 
from  it : 

' '  I  love  to  be  alone  —  alone  in  the  morning  with  the 
trees,  and  the  flowers,  and  the  birds.  I  am  not  alone 
then — they  are  all  so  friendly  to  me,  and  talk  more 
kindly  witli  me  than  any  human  friend.  The  waving 
trees  whisper  to  me.  The  flowers  turn  up  their  bright 
faces  pleasantly  to  greet  me.  And  the  sweet  birds  seem 
to  be  singing  solely  for  ray  pleasure. 

*«I  love  to  be  alone  in  the  night  —  alone  with  the 
clouds,  and  the  stars,  and  the  beautiful  moon.  The  won- 
drous stars  !  how  gently  they  look  down  on  me.  The 
clouds,  too  —  they  are  for  me  so  many  good  and  wonder- 
ful sermons,  full  of  ever  new  and  ever  varying  thoughts. 
Often  I  watch  them  gradually  folding,  leaf  after  leaf,  over 
the    face  of  the  moon   in   soft   and  dreamy  beauty.     But 


320  LETTERS  FROM   TIMBERVILLE. 

darker  and  heavier  they  grow,  till  her  light  is  completely 
hidden ;  and  I  watch  and  wait  in  the  darkness  and  long  to 
see  again  the  ftice  of  the  fair  planet. 

*'Thus,  often  the  joys  and  the  loves  of  earth  come  between 
us  and  the  haven  on  which  our  eyes  should  ever  be  fixed. 
Very  beautiful  they  are  at  first,  like  the  light  clouds  before 
the  moon,  and  the  face  of  our  Father  is  not  wholly  hidden 
from  us.  But  gradually  they  fill  our  vision.  They  shut 
out  the  light  of  the  better  world,  and  we  are  left  in  dark- 
ness, to  grieve  and  think  how  much  dearer  than  all  earthly 
delights  is  one  ray  from  the  Sun  of  Righteousness." 

Mrs.  Bolton,  also,  has  sent  me  an  article  for  the  circle, 
accompanied  by  a  note,  saying,  that,  ^'  my  distinct  enunci- 
ation would  enable  me  to  do  better  justice  to  her  produc- 
tion than  she  could  herself."  I  will  give  it  to  you  entire, 
as  I  know  she  would  not  object  to  being  ''extensively  pe- 
rused." 

"  How  delightful  to  the  satiated  mind  in  an  ungenial 
soil  is  converse  with  a  kindred  literary  spirit !  This 
remark  is  promulgated  by  the  recollection  of  a  circumstance 
which  transpired  to  me  once  while  I  was  sojourning  at 
Saratoga  Springs  for  the  establishment  of  my  health,  which 
had  become  undermined  by  excessive  reading. 

"  It  was  on  a  resplendent  day  in  August,  that  I  was 
meandering  in  a  delicious  grove  of  pines  in  the  vicinity  of 
Congress  Spring,  when  I  perceived  converging  towards  mo 
a  tall  and  elegant  young  man,  with  a  rifle  under  his  arm. 
When  he  perceived  the  fair  occupant  of  the  forest,  he 
bowed  gracefully  and  was  diverging  onwards.  But  being 
excessively  struck  with  his  highly  intellectual  countenance, 
I  was  desirous  of  entering  into  conversation  with  him,  and 
remarked  — 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  321 

**  *  Seeing  you,  sir,  with  your  rifle  in  hand  amid  this 
wilderness  of  trees,  reminds  me  forcibly  of  that  celebrated 
line  of  Shakspeare  — 

"  '  Just  as  the  trig^ger's  bent,  the  tree's  inclined.'  " 

**  He  paused,  and  regarded  me  with  evident  astonish- 
ment. It  was  obvious  that  I  was  the  first  literati  he  had 
met  at  the  Springs.  After  a  moment  he  smiled,  and  re- 
marked — 

**  '  And  I  am  here,  as  the  same  poet  farther  observes  — 

"  '  To  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot.'  " 

**  From  this  commencement,  our  conversation  very  nat- 
urally fell  into  a  highly  intellectual  strain.  I  never  was 
more  delighted,  and  the  bewitching  stranger  appeared 
equally  so.  He  drew  out  my  conversational  powers  on  a 
great  variety  of  subjects.  I  think  I  was  never  more  ani- 
mated. I  talked  enthusiastically  of  my  favorite  authors, 
and  he  asked  me  a  multitude  of  questions  —  I  regret  that 
I  disremember  the  most  of  them  at  this  remote  period. 
His  conversation  clearly  evinced  that  he  was  deeply  im- 
brued with  a  poetic  temperature.  He  was  evidently 
quite  carried  away  with  me,  and  actually  laughed  outrlglit 
several  times  in  his  delight  at  encountering  an  Indlvlduul 
of  a  kindred  spirit.  He  repeated  several  stanzas  of  exqui- 
site poetry,  highly  complimentary  to  me,  which  were 
evidently  suggested  impromptu  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 
Our  interview  was  prolonged  until  the  concentrating  shades 
of  evening  warned  us  to  return  to  our  respective  abodes. 
When  we  reached  the  *  United  States  Hotel,'  he  bowed 
with  superhuman  grace,  and  was  turning  to  ascend  the 


322  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

piazza,  when  I  remarked  that  it  would  be  a  source  of  in- 
tense satisfaction  to  me  to  possess  his  card.  He  turned 
his  refulgent  eyes  upon  me,  and  laying  the  forefinger  of 
his  right  hand  gracefully  beside  his  nasal  organ,  said,  with 
an  expression  which  I  shall  never  forget,  '  Madam,  I  am 
incog.'  And  bowing  again  with  redoubled  elegance,  he 
receded  up  the  long  vista  of  the  piazza.  I  had  never  be- 
held the  unknown  literati  since  ;  but  I  have  always  labored 
under  a  firm  persuasion  that  he  was  none  other  than  a  well 
known  celebrated  poet." 

I  fear  greatly  that  I  cannot  **  do  justice  "  to  Mrs.  Bol- 
ton's article.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  get  up  a  cold  and  sore 
throat  for  the  occasion,  which  will  enable  me  to  decline  the 
honor.  But  in  that  case  I  must  decline  Mary's  too. 
What  shall  I  do  ?     I'm  in  a  quandary. 

Joe  and  I  are  going  to  have  a  fine  ramble  over  the  hills 
this  evening.  He  is  waiting  for  me  on  the  piazza  below, 
and  I  know,  by  a  sort  of  shuffling  stamp  which  he  is  per- 
forming, that  he  begins  to  grow  impatient.  So  I'll  e'en 
close  my  long-enough  letter  and  relieve  him. 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  323 


III. 

TlMBERVILLE. 

KNOW  you  will  pardon   my  long  silence,   when 
you   learn  the  important  fact  that  I  am  at  house- 
keeping.    If  you   have  experienced  the  trials  and 
vexations  which  usually  attend  the   setting  up  of 
an  establishment,  surely  I   shall  have  your  hearty  sym- 
pathy.    But  I  do   not  believe  you  know  anything   about 
the  enormity  of  such  an  undertaking  in  the  country.      In 
the  city,  you  are    free  from  a    thousand   annoyances  and 
hindrances,  which  we  have  to  endure  In  a  place  like  Tim- 
berville,    busy,    bustling,    noisy,  and    growing;     a    place 
neither  city  nor  country,  but,  as  it  were,  in  a   state  of  he- 
tweenity,    aping  the   former,   yet    possessing  many  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  latter,  but  in  nothing  resembling  those 
old-fashioned,  stationary  country  villages,  in  one  of  which 
I  had   the  happiness  to  be  born  and  reared.      Dear  old 
Greenvalley  !     It  has  been  in  appearance  just  what  it  now 
is,  ever    since  my    earliest    recollection.     There    was    un- 
doubtedly a  time  when  it  was  new  and  growing,  but  that 
time  has  faded  from  the  memory  of  man.     The  only  ex- 
ternal changes  which  I  remark,  as  I  return  from  time  to 
time  to  the  peaceful  shade  of  its   majestic   old  elms,  are, 
that  here  and    there  a  roof  has    been    newly   shingled,  a 
fence  repaired,  and  occasionally  an  entire  house  has  gone 


324  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

up  In  the  place  of  one  that  had  fallen  quite  to  decay. 
One  by  one,  the  white-haired  patriarchs  of  the  hamlet  have 
been  gathered  to  their  final  rest,  while  those  of  their  de- 
scendants who  have  caught  this  age's  restless  spirit  of 
adventure,  have  gone  to  *'seek  their  fortunes  "  elsewhere. 
Only  such  remain  as  are  content  to  pursue  the  tranquil 
tenor  of  their  fathers'  way.  Heaven  forbid  that  Green- 
valley  should  ever  *'  take  a  start  and  grow." 

Here,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  doing  anything  quietly. 
The  whole  village  must  know  all  your  proceedings  ;  every- 
body must  ' '  have  a  hand  in  it ;  "  and  unless  you  receive 
with  a  good  grace  the  proffered  assistance,  you  are  forever 
undone.  I  resolved  tt)  take  warning  from  the  unhappy 
fate  of  a  certain  Mrs.  D.,  who  came  here  to  reside  about 
two  years  ago,  and  not  render  myself  unpopular,  as  she 
had  done.  Unfortunate  woman  !  She  declined  the  offi- 
cious offers  of  the  Timberville  ladies,  to  help  her  "  get  to 
rights,"  and  chose  rather,  with  the  assistance  of  the  mem- 
bers of  her  own  household,  to  fit  her  carpets  herself,  ar- 
range her  furniture,  and,  what  was  the  most  aggravating 
of  all,  to  unpack  her  trunks  and  bureaus,  without  so  much 
as  allowing  any  of  the  aforesaid  ladies  a  peep  at  their  con- 
tents. Mrs.  Phllpott,  animadverting  to  me  upon  Mrs. 
D.'s  conduct,  remarked,  "  We  don't  know  to  this  day 
what  was  in  them  boxes." 

As  I  did  not  desire  the  reputation  of  being  '^  stuck  up," 
I  surrendered,  with  apparent  cheerfulness,  my  house  and 
furniture  to  the  mercy  of  some  ten  or  dozen  of  the  Tim- 
berville ladies,  for  the  space  of  about  a  week.  My  hus- 
band retreated  in  alarm  from  the  scene  of  action,  and 
remained  quietly  at  Mrs.  Pratt's,  until  the  house  was  pro- 
nounced to  be  *'  to  rights."   Joe  Pratt  said  he  thought  it 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  325 

might  with  more  propriety  be  called  to  wrongs ;  a  very- 
just  remark  of  Joes  ;  for  actually  we  were  occupied  a  full 
week  longer  in  undoing  the  greater  part  of  what  the  ladles 
had  done.  Everything  had  to  be  re-arranged.  The  car- 
pets, which  they  had  insisted  upon  making,  had  been 
sewed  to2;ether  in  such  a  manner  that  the  seams  burst 
open  and  the  bindings  gave  out  during  the  process  of 
nailing  down,  which  was  accomplished  so  crookedly,  that 
one  would  have  imagined  every  person  who  assisted  thereat 
to  have  differed  from  the  rest  in  her  opinion  respecting  the 
manner  in  which  they  ought  to  lie.  Of  course,  they  had 
all  to  be  taken  up,  re-sewed,  and  put  down  straight. 

But,  after  the  siege  which  the  house  had  undergone,  I 
thought  I  had  reason  to  congratulate  myself  that  the  de- 
struction of  property  had  been  no  greater  than  it  was. 
When  they  unpacked  the  crockery,  and  I  saw  half-a-dozen 
pulling  and  hauling  at  it,  I  certainly  expected  to  see  it 
nearly  all  go  to  pieces.  Consequently,  I  was  thankful  to 
escape  with  the  loss  of  a  few  pieces  of  china,  just  enough 
to  spoil  a  set,  the  demolition  of  a  large  lamp-shade,  which 
Mrs.  Harris  had  smashed  in  her  eagerness  to  draw  it  from 
its  concealment,  and  the  ruination  of  a  valuable  framed  en- 
graving, which  Mrs.  Bolton  (our  literati)  accidentally 
dashed  against  the  corner  of  the  stove,  thereby  breaking 
the  glass  into  numberless  atoms,  and  bursting  a  hole 
through  the  middle  of  the  picture.  The  good  lady  fancied 
that  she  made  more  than  ample  compensation  by  sending 
me  the  next  day  a  daub  of  a  painting  —  a  couple  of 
women  leading  a  donkey,  and  two  or  three  huts  in  tlie  dis- 
tance. She  accompanied  this  gift  with  a  note,  wherein 
she  stated  that  the  painting  was  one  of  a  number  which 
she  had  recently  purchased  in  Philadelphia ;  it  was  '  *  a 
28 


326  LETTERS   FROM   TIMBERVILLE. 

view  of  Switzerland,  an  oriental  village  near  Paris  ;  "  Mr. 
Milligan,  the  great  traveller  whom  she  had  met  in  the  city, 
pronounced  it  to  be  a  perfect  representation. 

During  the  readjustment  of  affairs,  my  friend,  Joe 
Pratt,  was  very  useful  to  us.  The  little  fellow  was  con- 
stantly on  hand,  ready  to  assist  in  a  thousand  ways.  We 
continued  to  take  our  meals  at  his  mother's,  until  every- 
thing was  arranged  at  our  new  abode.  When,  finally, 
that  time  arrived,  and  I  said,  "  Well,  Joe,  I  believe  we 
are  all  fixed  at  last,"  the  poor  boy  looked  anything  but 
pleased.  He  would  no  longer  have  any  excuse  for  run- 
ning back  and  forth.  He  must  stay  all  day  at  home,  with 
no  relief  from  his  mother's  fretfulness  and  his  sisters'  re- 
buffs. His  daily  visits  to  my  room,  his  lessons,  and  our 
pleasant  rambles  together,  they  must  all  be  given  up,  and 
Joe  was  sad. 

«'  Joe,"  said  I,  reading  his  thoughts,  **  I  shall  miss  you 
very  much." 

*' And  I  shall  be  50  lonesome,"  said  he,  stretching  his 
eyes  open  very  wide,  to  prevent  the  tears  from  running 
out;  *'and  mother  talks  of  moving  away  to  Ohio,  too, 
and  then  I  shall  never  see  you  again." 

The  idea  of  parting  with  Joe  was  painful  to  me  ;  for  I 
had  become  greatly  attached  to  him.  A  thought  struck 
me  of  keeping  him  with  us.  I,  however,  said  nothing  to 
Joe  about  it  at  that  time,  wishing  first  to  consult  my  hus- 
band on  the  subject.  When  Mr.  Waters  came  in  I  men- 
tioned it  to  him ;  he  approved  the  plan  ;  and  we  accord- 
ingly proposed  to  Mrs.  Pratt,  that,  in  case  of  her  removing 
from  Timberville,  she  should  leave  Joe  with  us  for  at  least 
a  year  or  two.  At  first,  the  worthy  woman  did  not  ap- 
pear much  inclined  to  accede  to  the  proposal,  and  dwelt 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  327 

with  great  emphasis  upon  the  pain  of  parting  with  her 
only  son.  But  as  soon  as  she  fairly  understood  that  we 
wished  to  relieve  her  from  all  expense  on  his  account,  her 
feelings  underwent  a  modification  ;  her  objections  van- 
ished, and  she  consented.  And  so  it  is  settled.  Mrs. 
Pratt  is  to  remove  to  Ohio  next  month,  accompanied  by 
her  dauo^hters,  and  Joe  is  to  come  and  live  with  us ;  an 
arrangement  highly  satisfactory  to  that  young  gentle- 
man. 

The  greatest  trouble  which  I  have  experienced  thus  far 
in  housekeeping  here,  has  arisen  from  the  difficulty  of 
procuring  servants  that  are  good  for  anything.  During 
the  first  two  months  I  had  foitr  different  ones.  Our  first 
specimen  in  this  line  was  a  girl  from  the  wilds  of  Penn- 
sylvania, whom  Mrs.  Stokes  procured  for  me,  and  pro- 
nounced to  be  "  excellent  help."  She  rejoiced  in  the 
euphonious  cognomen  of  ''Eowena  Euggles."  I  had  been 
expecting  her  for  several  days,  but  she  did  not  come  until 
the  second  evening  after  we  were  settled  in  our  new  home. 
Her  approach  was  announced  by  the  rattling  of  a  very  noisy 
lumber  wagon,  which  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  road 
in  front  of  our  house.  I  looked  up  and  beheld  an  over- 
grown, raw-boned  girl,  accompanied  by  a  gawky  boy  who 
drove.  The  girl  was  seated  on  a  huge  pine  box.  She 
rose  up  in  the  vehicle,  and,  after  taking  a  comprehensive 
view  of  the  house,  exclaimed  :  "  Wal,  I  guess  this  ere's 
the  sittiwation.  Jeems,  PU  hold  the  horse,  while  you  git 
out  and  go  see'f  the  Waterses  lives  here,  if  they  do,  you 
tell  'cm  that  Miss  Euggles  has  arriv'."  Just  then  a  boy, 
who  was  passing,  gave  them  the  desired  information,  and 
the  girl  alighted  and  came  in.  She  entered  the  front  door 
without  takin^:  the  slicjjhtest  notice  of  the  bell,  and  walked 


328  LETTERS  FROM    TIMBERVILLE. 

into  the  parlor  where  I  was  sitting.  **  How  do  ye  do?  " 
said  she ;  then  casting  herself  down  on  the  sofa  with  na- 
tive ease  and  freedom  of  manner,  remarked:  '*  This  is 
Miss  Waters,  ain't  it?"  I  assented.  "  Wal,  I'm  Miss 
Ruggles,"  said  she,  *'  the  young  lady  you  was  suspectin'." 
After  communicating  this  piece  of  intelligence,  she  took 
off  her  tawdry  pink  silk  bonnet,  and  white  gauze  long 
shawl,  and,  laying  them  on  the  centre-table,  inquired  : 
* '  Hain't  you  no  men  folks  round  ?  I  guess  Jeems'll  want 
some  resistance  about  fetchin'  in  my  chist."  But  she  un- 
derrated Jeems's  abilities,  for  at  that  moment  he  came  drag- 
ging up  the  steps  the  enormous  pine  box. 

Having,  by  this  time,  recovered  in  a  measure  from  the 
astonishment  into  which  the  unceremonious  entrance  of  Miss 
Ruggles  had  thrown  me,  I  advanced  and  met  the  young 
gentleman  in  the  hall,  and,  having  directed  him  where 
to  bestow  his  sister's  box,  returned  to  the  parlor  and  re- 
quested Rowena  to  bring  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  I 
would  show  her  where  her  room  was.  She  complied ; 
and,  on  the  way,  inquired  "  whether  we'd  been  to  sup- 
per?" I  answered  in  the  affirmative;  whereupon  she  in- 
formed me  that  she  "  hadn't  had  none;  and  Jeems  would 
want  some  'fore  he  went  back  with  the  survey ance."  I" 
got  them  supper,  after  which  Jeems  returned  home  ;  and, 
after  cfivinjr  Rowena  some  instructions  in  rei^ard  to  her 
work,  I  retired  with  some  misgivings,  and  left  her  to  wash 
up  the  dishes. 

Upon  further  acquaintance  with  Miss  Ruggles,  I  dis- 
covered that  she  understood  housework  much  better  than  I 
at  first  supposed.  She  could  bake,  and  wash,  and  do 
plain  cooking  very  well ;  but  her  notions  of  equality,  and 
her  utter  ignorance  of  the  proprieties  of  her  station,  ren- 


LETTERS  FROM    TIMBERVILLE.  329 

clered  it  very  difficult  to  get  on  with  her.  She  seemed  to 
expect  me  to  be  in  the  kitchen  at  work  as  long  as  she  was 
there,  though  in  our  little  family  there  was  not  enough 
work  to  occupy  nearly  all  of  her  own  time.  Every  after- 
noon, she  arrayed  herself  in  a  very  stiffly  starched  petti- 
coat, and  blue  muslin  dress,  and  "joined  me  in  the  parlor" 
(as  novels  say).  Her  dress,  which  fastened  in  the  back, 
she  could  only  hook  a  little  way  up,  so  she  bawled  out,  as 
she  entered,  "  Miss  Waters,  I'll  get  you  to  hook  up  my 
frock."  After  I  had  performed  this  service  for  her,  she 
was  wont  to  complete  her  toilet  before  the  parlor  glass. 
After  having  adjusted  a  broad,  yellow  ribbon  around  her 
neck,  put  on  a  pair  of  lace  cuffs  decorated  with  pink  bows, 
and  stuck  an  immense  red  and  green  plaid  rosette  in  her 
mud-colored  hair,  she  threw  herself  on  the  sofa ;  or,  if  I 
did  not  happen  to  be  occupying  it,  in  my  large  rocking- 
chair,  and  began  to  converse  without  restraint.  She  gen- 
erally entertained  me  with  an  account  of  the  various 
"  ways"  of  the  various  ladies  with  whom  she  had  lived, 
occasionally  diversified  with  remarks  like  the  following  : 
*'  I  like  the  way  you  do  up  your  hair.  Miss  Waters.  I 
guess  I'll  git  you  to  fix  mine  for  me  some  time.  I  ain't 
no  great  hand  to  do  up  hair  myself.  Sister  Batsey  — 
she's  married  a  Brigham  now,  and  live  to  the  Flatts  out 
here  —  she's  quite  a  hand  to  do  up  hair  ;  hern's  a'most  as 
black  as  your'n.  That  frock  o'  your'n  looks  jest  like  one 
Batsey 's  got ;  shouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  off  the  same  piece. 
What  did  you  hef  to  give  a  yard  for  that?  " 

No  matter  what  I  was  doing,  — reading,  writing,  what- 
ever might  be  my  occupation,  —  it  was  no  check  upon  Miss 
Euggles's  volubility.  It  was  a  dreadful  annoyance ,  and  I 
resolved  to  get  rid  of  it ;  but  not  liking  to  ofifend  her  by 

28* 


330  LETTERS  FROM    TIMBER  VILLE. 

telllno-  her  that  I  would  prefer  her  "  room  to  her  com- 
pany," I  tried  various  expedients  to  induce  her  to  spend 
the  afternoon  elsewhere.  I  offered  her  useful  books  to 
read  in  her  own  room;  but  she  "  wa'n't  no  hand  for 
books."  I  discovere^l,  on  investigation,  that  she  could 
barely  spell  out  a  few  words,  and  had  never  learned  to 
write  at  all.  I  offered  to  teach  her,  and  told  her  that  I 
had  a  spare  writing-desk,  which  she  might  keep  in  her 
room  and  practise  every  afternoon.  But  she  declined, 
saying  that  "she  didn't  see  no  use  o'  much  eddication  ; 
her  brother  Brigham  was  eddicated,  and  that  answered  for 
'em  all."  I  asked  if  she  had  no  sewing  that  she  would 
like  to  do,  and  hinted  that  her  room  possessed  great  con- 
veniences for  such  employment.  But  "  she  wa'n't  no 
hand  to  sew  ;  sister  Batsey  ginerally  made  her  things  for 
her."  At  length  my  patience  was  exhausted,  when,  on 
returning  one  evening  with  Mr.  Waters  from  a  walk,  we 
found  Eowena  in  the  parlor,  seated  in  my  rocking-chair, 
with  her  feet  on  an  ottoman,  my  Cologne  bottle  in  her 
hand,  and  playing  the  hostess  to  Monsieur  Laborde,  Mr. 
Griffin,  and  Mr.  Bunker,  who  had  called  upon  us.  The 
o-entlemen  had  evidently  been  highly  entertained  with  her 
easy  manners  and  conversational  powers.  I  was  thor- 
oughly vexed,  and  told  her  emphatically  to  leave  the  room. 
Her  surprise  was  equalled  only  by  her  indignation.  She 
went  out  in  high  dudgeon,  slamming  the  door  behind  her, 
to  the  great  amusement  of  the  gentlemen.  M.  Laborde 
remarked  that  "  Miss  Eoogle  was  very  divert issante.''  Her 
proceedings  were  anything  but  amusing  to  we,  whatever 
they  might  have  been  to  Monsieur  and  his  companions. 

When  Rowena  retreated  from  the  parlor,  she  went  out, 
by  way  of  compensation,  to   call  upon  Mrs.  Crandal,  the 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  331 

baker's  wife,  our  next  door  neighbor,  with  whom  she  had 
struck  up  an  Intimacy,  and  to  whom  she  carried  a  dally  re- 
port of  '*  Miss  Waters's  curus  ways."  No  doubt  she 
received  that  lady's  sincerest  sympathy  In  her  affliction, 
and  probably  acted  upon  her  advice ;  for  the  next  morn- 
ing, as  Mr.  Waters  and  I  were  sitting  In  the  library,  she 
came  In  abruptly  and  demanded  her  wages.  It  was 
Thursday.     I  had  hitherto  paid  her  on  Saturdays. 

*' Why  do  you  want  your  money  to-day,  Rowena?" 
asked  I. 

*'  Because  I'm  a  goln'  to  go,"  said  she,  angrily. 

"What  Is  the  matter,  Rowena?"  said  I.  "  Why  are 
you  going  off  so  suddenly  ?  " 

*'Pay  her,  Fanny,  and  let  her  go,"  said  my  husband, 
who  Is  decidedly  opposed  to  '*  having  words  "  with  ser- 
vants. 

I  therefore  went  to  a  drawer  and  got  the  money  for  her. 
But  Miss  Ruggles  was  not  disposed  to  depart  without  a 
few  last  words. 

"  I'm  a  goin',"  said  she,  '*  acause  you've  made  an  un- 
derlln'  of  me  ever  sence  I  come  here.  You  hain't  axed 
me  to  set  down  to  the  table  and  take  a  meal  o'  vlttels  with 
ye  onct ;  and  Miss  Grand al's  help  allers  eats  to  the  table 
with  'em,  and  Miss  Crandal's  as  good  as  you  be,  any  day  ; 
and  she  says  It's  an  impersition ;  and  my  sister  Batsey 
lived  a  year  and  a  half  to  Squire  Huger's,  to  the  Flatts, 
and  she  allers  eat  to  the  table  with  'em  ;  and  they  was  re- 
spectabler'n  you  be,  and  lived  in  enough  sight  grander 
house.  And  then,  to  cap  all,  you  told  me  I  wa'n't  wanted 
In  t'other  room  last  night,  and  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  put  up 
with  it  no  longer ;  and  so  —  and  you  may  git  yer  work  did 
the  best  way  ye  ken,  for  all  I  care." 


332  LETTERS   FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

Having  thus  relieved  her  mind,  she  retired,  banging  all 
the  doors,  and  knocking  down  several  chairs  in  her  exit. 
In  the  afternoon,  Jeems  came  with  the  survey ance  and  took 
away  her  chist.  A  few  days  after  her  departure,  my  hus- 
band received  by  mail  the  following  note,  the  production 
of  her  eddicated  brother-in-law. 

To  mister  fillip  Wotters.     sir 

ef  you  Think  that  you  and 
your  Stuck  up  wife  is  a  goin'  to  Sale  to  hevven  in  a 
grander  bote  than  the  one  your  help  goes  in,  your  Mistaken 
i  gess.  That  interesting  young  Lady  roweny  ruggles  That 
you  Treted  so  shameful  is  kalkulated  to  Be  a  nornament  to 
Sociaty  and  would  Be  ef  it  want  for  such  Stick  ups  as  you 
And  miss  wotters  is.  i  rite  to  let  you  know  what  i  And 
all  rite  minded  gentlemen  And  ladis  Thinks  of  such  karac- 
ters  as  you  Be.     so  no  more  From  yours  contemptably. 

Silas  Brigham. 

On  the  evening  after  Rowena  left  in  disgust,  Joe  Pratt 
came  round  to  see  me,  and  he  undertook  to  procure  us 
another  girl.  He  knew,  he  said,  one  Polly  Baily,  who 
had  occasionally  worked  at  his  mother's  when  they  had  a 
great  deal  of  company.  He  believed  she  was  not  very 
btiorJit,  but  he  knew  her  to  be  (]:ood-natured.  She  was 
now  out  of  a  place,  and  lived  at  a  brother's.  I  thought  I 
would  at  least  make  a  trial  of  her.  I  therefore  desired 
Joe  to  go  and  tell  her  to  come  to  me  for  a  few  days.  He 
readily  complied,  and  soon  returned  with  the  information 
that  Polly  would  be  over  in  the  morning.  She  would 
have  come  with  him,  but  she  wanted  to  mend  her  things 
and  make  a  new  calico  apron  that  evening. 

The  next   morning,  while  I  was  preparing  breakfast, 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  333 

Polly  arrived.     She  came  in  at  the  back  door,  and  hailed 
me  with  — 

"  Good  mornin',  Miss  Waters.  I  s'pose  that's  you  ?  " 
**  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  and  I  suppose  you  are  Polly  Bally  ?  " 
*'  'Tain't  nobody  else,"  said  she,  depositing  a  small 
bundle  on  the  table  and  taklns^  off  her  bonnet,  exhlbitlno- 
thereby  a  most  unique  coiffure.  Her  hair,  which  was  very 
thin,  was  all  drawn  together  at  the  summit  of  her  head, 
tied  with  a  tape  string,  and  twisted  into  a  funny  little  pig- 
tail. In  person,  Miss  Baily  was  short  and  stout,  her  eyes 
were  set  bias  in  her  head,  and  her  mouth  was  entirely  on 
one  side  of  her  face.  If  she  lacked  the  dignity  and  state- 
llness  of  her  predecessor,  Miss  Ruggles,  she  fully  equalled 
that  young  lady  In  ease  and  self-possession. 

"  I  should  a  come  last  night,"  continued  she,  ''  only 
my  things  needed  mendin'  and  fixin',  and  I  had  a  new  cal- 
icer  apron  to  make.  You  see,  sister-in-law's  baby's  ben 
sick,  and  Pve  had  so  much  to  do,  I  hain't  had  a  minnit's 
time  to  sew  lately.  But  I  didn't  git  at  the  apron  last 
night,  after  all,  for  sister-in-law  went  to  meetin',  and  the 
baby  waked  up  and  cried,  and  I  had  to  tend  it  till  she  got 
back.  So  I  fetcht  my  apron  along  :  s'pose  I  shall  git  any 
time  to  make  it  here  ?  " 

*' O,  yes,"  replied  I;  "you  will  have  some  time  to 
yourself  every  afternoon,  unless  something  unusual  hap- 
pens ;  and  you  will  find  a  drawer  in  the  table  in  your 
room,  where  you  can  keep  your  work." 

"  Wal,  if  that  ain't  clever  !  "  exclaimed  Polly.  "  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  you  was  a  goin'  to  be  a  real  good 
woman  to  live  with ;  though  Miss  Crandal  says  "  — 

''It  is  nearly  breakfast- time,  Polly,"  I  said;  "there 
are  some  mutton  steaks  to  be  broiled  :  do  you  know  how 
to  do  them?" 


664:  LETTERS  FRO 31  TIMBERYILLE. 

*'  Pity  If  I  don't,"  she  answered.  *'  It  takes  me  to 
cook  mutton  steaks.      Why,  when  I  lived  to  Miss"  — 

''  Well,  here  is  the  gridiron  ;  the  coffee  is  already  boil- 
ing, and  will  soon  be  done.  Do  you  understand  making 
coffee?" 

"Pity  if  I  don't !  Why,  I've  made  coffee  ever  sence  I 
was  so  high.  Jest  tell  me  where  things  is,  and  I  can  go 
ahead,  as  you'll  find  out  'fore  I've  lived  with  ye  long.  I 
ain't  afeard  but  what  I  shall  suit  ye ;  everybody  that  has 
me  once  wants  me  agin." 

So  I  gave  her  the  necessary  information,  and  telling  her 
to  ring  the  bell  when  breakfast  was  on  the  table,  was  going 
out,  when  she  called  to  me  — 

' '  Miss  Waters  !  I've  heerd  say  liow't  you  don't  have 
your  help  eat  to  the  table  with  you ;  is  it  so  ?  " 

"Yes,  Polly,"  said  I;  "  I  always  allow  my  girls  the 
privilege  of  eating  by  themselves  ;  they  feel  so  much  more 
at  liberty  to  eat  as  much  as  they  w^ant,  you  know." 

"  Wal,  now,  ther  is  something  in  tliat,"  said  Polly. 
"  And  don't  you  take  off  none  o'  the  vittels  after  you  git 
through?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  the  girls  always  have  the  same  that 
Mr.  Waters  and  I  have." 

"  Wal,  I  say  for't ;  I  don't  see  why  that  ain't  a  good 
idee.  Miss  Crandal  needn't  jaw  about  it  as  she  does  ;  for, 
after  all,  it's  enough  better'n  the  way  she  manages.  I 
lived  there  a  spell  once,  and  I  used  to  eat  to  the  table  with 
'em,  and,  it's  a  fact,  I  was  half  starved  ;  for  she  used  to 
be  forever  tellin'  the  children  'twa'n't  perlite  to  take  any- 
thing mor'n  once,  and  so  ye  see  I  darsen't  do  it ;  and  then, 
the  minnit  they  got  through,  she  ketcht  off  the  vittels  and 
stuck  'em  away  under  lock  and  key." 


LETTERS  FR03f  TIMBERVILLE.  335 

**Iam  glad  you  are  satisfied  with  my  arrangements, 
Polly,"  said  I,  escaping  from  the  kitchen,  and  rejoicing  at 
having  thus  disposed  of  one  grand  difficulty. 

But  that  breakfast !  The  mutton  steaks  were  burnt  to 
a  coal,  and  quite  uneatable.  And  the  coffee  !  w^hat  could 
be  the  matter  with  it?  At  the  first  taste  of  it,  Mr. 
Waters  turned  pale  with  consternation,  and  rushed  to  the 
door  to  *'make  restitution"  of  it  (as  M.  Laborde  says). 
I  took  a  sip,  and  was  obliged  to  follow  his  example.  I 
never  tasted  anything  so  perfectly  horrible.  I  called 
Polly,  and  asked  her  what  she  had  done  to  the  coffee. 

"  Why,  nothin',"  said  she  ;  "  only,  when  I  took  it  up, 
I  throw'd  in  a  tablespoonful  o'  salt  to  settle  it." 

I  v^ent  out  and  made  a  cup  of  tea,  not  daring  to  trust 
Polly  to  do  it ;  and  this,  with  the  bread,  which  was  cut  in 
pieces  an  inch  thick  at  one  end,  and  slivered  up  as  thin  as 
a  wafer  at  the  other,  constituted  our  breakfast.  Mr. 
Waters  thought  it  but  a  sorry  beginning  for  our  new  func- 
tionary ;  but  I  told  him  that  these  were  evils  which,  with 
proper  training,  could,  I  hoped,  soon  be  remedied.  I 
spent  the  whole  morning  in  instructing  Polly,  giving  her 
the  minutest  directions  about  everything  in  her  department 
of  labor ;  in  fact,  doing  all  that  related  to  the  prepara- 
tion of  dinner  myself,  in  order  to  show  her  how  I  wished 
it  done  ;  while  she  kept  constantly  asserting  that  "she 
hiovfd  —  she'd  always  been  used  to  doing — but  then 
everybody  liked  their  own  ways  best,  and  she  was  per- 
fectly willin'  to  be  teacht  my  ways,  for  she  wanted  to  suit 
me,"  &c.  &c. 

After  dinner  I  was  in  the  library,  when  Polly  came 
bolting  in,  with  a  look  of  extreme  satisfaction  on  her  face, 
and  holding  in  each  hand  a  broken  tumbler ;  the  bottoms 
were  gone. 


336  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBER  VILLE. 

«'  Look  o'  there,  Miss  Waters  !  "  she  said.  *'  Ain't  you 
astonished  ?  " 

'*  I  am,  indeed.     How  did  you  break  those,  Polly?" 

**  O,  law  !  "  said  she,  *'  that  ain't  it.  I  mean,  ain't  you 
astonished  to  see  me  come  and  tell  on't?  'Tain't  every 
girl  'twould  own  up  so  when  they  broke  a  thing  ;  but  I  do ; 
you  won't  never  ketch  me  a  breakin'  crockery  and  then 
stickin'  on't  away,  out  o'  yer  sight.  I'm  honest,  as  you'll 
find  out  'fore  I've  lived  with  ye  long." 

On  inquiry,  I  found  that  she  had  poured  boiling  water 
on  the  tumblers  to  wash  them.  I  told  her  never  to  do  so 
again;  though,  at  the  same  time,  I  commended  her  hon- 
esty in  telling  me  of  the  accident.  After  she  had  got  the 
kitchen  '*  to  rights,"  she  came  again.  ♦ 

'' Wal,  Miss  Waters,  the  work's  all  did  up  now;  and 
I'm  ready  to  go  at  that  apron,  if  you'll  lend  me  a  needle 
and  some  thread ;  I  didn't  think  to  fetch  none." 

I  furnished  her  with  these  requisites,  and  she  retired  to 
her  room.  When  it  was  nearly  time  for  tea,  she  came 
running  in  again,  quite  out  of  breath,  exclaiming  — 

"  Don't  ye  think,  Miss  Waters,  I  hain't  took  a  stitch  in 
that  apron  yet !  " 

*'Why,  Polly,"  said  I,  "how  comes  that?  I  thought 
you  had  been  sewing  these  two  hours." 

"  Wal,  that  was  what  I  meant  to  do,"  replied  Polly  ; 
*'  but,  ye  see,  I  hadn't  more'n  got  seated  by  my  winder, 
ready  to  go  at  it,  when  Miss  Crandal  she  spied  me  from 
her  parlor  winder,  and  she  called  to  me  to  come  over  there  ; 
so  I  throwd  down  my  work,  ye  know,  and  went  over  to  see 
what  she  wanted,  and  there  I've  ben  ever  sence ;  and  Miss 
Capers  and  Miss  Bennet  was  there  a  visitin',  you  know 
and   they    all    three   sot  to    and   axed    me   more'n   forty 


LETTERS  FROM  TBIBERVILLE.  337 

thousand  questions  about  you,  and  all  how  I  got  along  here, 
and  what  wages  I  got,  'and  whether  I  eat  to  the  table  with 
you.  I  told  'em  no  ;  I  had  the  privilege  of  eatin'  by 
myself,  without  bein'  watched  every  mou'ful  I  took,  and  I 
told  'em  I  had  enough  to  eat,  too  ;  and  a  real  nice  room, 
besides,  to  sleep  in,  with  a  good  clean  bed,  and  a  table, 
and  a  lookin'-glass  in  it.  That  made  Miss  Crandal  feel 
ruther  shamed,  I  guess ;  fur  when  I  lived  there,  I  had  to 
sleep  up  garret,  in  an  old  trundle-bed,  you  know,  right 
where  all  the  old  truck  was  kept,  you  know,"  &c.  &c. 

My  hopes  of  Polly's  improvement  were  doomed  to 'be 
disappointed;  for  I  found  it  utterly  impossible  to  impress 
anything  upon  her  mind.  She  could  not  remember  from 
onqjkour  to  the  next,  much  less  from  one  day  to  another. 
Daily  and  hourly  did  I  go  through  with  the  same  process 
of  training  and  directing.  Daily  and  hourly  did  Polly  pro- 
test that  **  she  would  remember  that  time,  Pd  see  'f  she 
wouldn't,"  and  as  constantly  did  she  continue  to  make  the 
very  same  blunders  over  and  over  again.  She  would  act- 
ually have  salted  the  coiFee  again  the  second  morning,  if  I 
had  not  discovered  her  intention  in  time  to  prevent  such  a 
catastrophe.  And  the  tumblers  would  have  been  broken 
every  day,  had  I  not  superintended  the  dish- washing. 

The  day  after  she  came,  the  fastidious  sisters  Bigelow 
(Carry  and  Lute)  called  upon  me.  I  had  just  gone  up 
stairs  to  dress,  having  been  engaged  longer  than  usual  with 
my  household  duties,  by  reason  of  Polly's  awkwardness. 
My  maid  of  all  work  answered  the  summons  of  the  bell, 
and  admitted  the  ladies  with  a  very  vociferous  **  Why, 
girls,  how  do  you  Jo?     Come  in." 

<«  Is   Mrs.    Waters  at  home?"  said  Miss   Carry,  with 
great  dignity. 
29 


338  LETTERS   FROM    TIMBERVILLE. 

*<  O  yes ;  she's  to  hum,"  responded  Polly  ;  '*  she's  jest 
went  up  stahs  to  put  on  her  t'other  things.  You  step  in 
the  parlor;  take  some  cheers;  now  take  off  yer  things." 
The  ladies  declined.  *' What,  can't  ye  stay?  I  know 
Miss  Waters  would  like  to  hev  you,  and  I'm  sure  1  should." 

''  Carry  our  names  to  !Mrs.  Waters,"  said  MissBigelow, 
commandingly. 

<«  Your  names  !  "  said  Polly,  **  less  see,  they're  Carline 
and  L^^c?/,  ain't  they?" 

<«  Tell  her  the  Miss  Bigelows  are  here,"  replied  Carry, 
with  a  great  accession  of  dignity  to  her  tone  and  manner. 

Polly  was  puzzled ;  but,  without  asking  further  ques- 
tions, she  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  which  is  close  to 
the  parlor  door,  and  bawled  out  to  me  —  -0 

"  Miss  Waters  !  the  Miss  Bigl'ows  is  here.  They  told 
me  to  tell  you  their  names  —  I  b'l'eve  they're  Carline  and 
Lucy.  They  hain't  come  to  stay  to  tea  ;  so  you  hurry  and 
come  down  as  quick  as  you  kin." 

I  was  distracted  !  I  rushed  out  half  dressed,  and,  bend- 
ing over  the  banister  — 

*'  Polly,"  said  I,  '*  don't  stay  there  any  longer.  Til  be 
down  in  a  moment." 

'«  O  law,"  replied  the  pertinacious  Polly,  '*  Pd  jest  as 
lives  stay  with  'em  till  you  git  ready  as  not." 

So  she  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  entertained  the  ladies 
with  an  account  of  the  advantages  of  her  new  place  ;  and  I, 
knowing  that  to  call  to  her  again  would  only  prolong  the 
ridiculous  scene,  finished  dressing  with  all  possible  expedi- 
tion and  hastened  down,  whereupon  Polly  withdrew,  with- 
out waiting  to  be  sent,  saying,  "  she  guessed  she'd  go  at 
that  apron  now."  I  apologized  to  the  ladies  for  Polly's  ig- 
norance,  and  said  that  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  teach   lier 


LETTERS  FROM   TIMDERVILLE.  339 

something  in  the  course  of  thne.  Miss  Bigelow  trusted 
that  I  would  succeed  in  the  attempt.  Miss  Lute  remarked 
that  such  scenes  were  excessively  annoying,  and  they  both 
declared  that  the  impertinence  of  the  Timberville  servants 
was  quite  intolerable  to  them,  particularly  after  being  at 
Brother  Peter's,  where  the  domestics  were  under  such  per- 
fect control,  notwithstanding  their  number.  They  then 
went  into  a  highly  edifying  description  of  the  domestic 
economy  of  brother  Peter's  establishment,  which  occupied 
the  remainder  of  the  visit. 

After  they  had  gone,  I  spent  an  hour  in  teaching  Polly 
her  duty  on  such  occasions.  She  promised  faithfully  to  ob- 
serve my  directions.  The  next  day,  Judge  Conway  and 
M#.  Conway  called;  and  Polly,  will  you  believe  it? 
went  through  with  the  very  same  performance  which  she 
had  enacted  with  the  Bigelows  !  She  was  incorrigible,  but 
so  really  desirous  to  please  me,  that  I  was  unwilling  to 
give  her  up  until  I  had  taxed  my  ingenuity  to  the  utmost 
to  make  something  of  her.  But  it  was  a  fruitless  task,  she 
could  not  remember ;  unless  I  was  with  her  all  the  time, 
everything  went  wrong.  I  kept  her  two  weeks,  and  then 
gave  up  in  despair.  The  poor  girl  felt  very  badly  when  I 
told  her  that  I  must  discharge  her.  She  said  *'  she  liked 
me  better  than  anybody  she  liad  ever  lived  with  ;  if  I  would 
only  keep  her,  she  would  remember  my  ways  and  try  to  suit 
me."  But  I  knew  too  well  her  utter  incapacity  to  fulfil 
this  promise  to  trust  to  her  good  intentions.  One  source 
of  regret  with  Polly  at  leaving  me  was,  that  **she  hadn't 
finished  *  that  apron '  yet,  and  she  shouldn't  have  a  minute's 
time  to  sew  at  her  sister-in-law's."  You  can  therefore 
imagine  her  delight  wdien  I  presented  her  a  black  silk  apron, 
ready  made,  and  her  ecstasy  at  the  addition  of  a  collar  and 
pair  of  cuffs  to  this  gift. 


340  LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE. 

*'  Why,  Miss  Waters  ! "  said  she,  *<  you  don't  mean  to 
give  me  these  right  out  and  out,  do  you?  " 

"  Certainly,  Polly,"  I  replied. 

' '  And  ain't  they  'ducted  from  my  wages  ?  " 

"  By  no  means ;  they  are  a  present ;  and  here  is  your 
money,  too." 

"  Wal,  I  say  for't !  "  exclaimed  she,  *'  you  he  a  clever 
woman  and  no  mistake  !  I'll  show  these  to  Miss  Crandal, 
3^ou  see  'f  I  don't.  She  used  to  make  me  take  mor'n  half 
my  wages  in  old  clus." 

In  real  Timber ville  style,  I  am  boring  you  to  death  with 
a  history  of  my  "  helps."  I  will  not  enter  into  any  more 
particulars  on  this  inexhaustible  theme,  but  merely  state 
that  of  the  two  whom  I  have  tried  since  Polly's  departure, 
the  first  was  a  tliievish,  intemperr«te  Irish  woman,  wl.om  I 
dismissed  at  the  end  of  a  week  ;  and  the  last,  a  lazy,  saucy 
black  girl,  of  whom  you  may  form  a  correct  idea  by  this 
remark  of  hers.  She  one  day  saw  two  of  our  most  respec- 
table citizens  taking  a  drunken,  black  rioter  to  jail. 
*'Miss  Waters,"  said  she,  "what  you  s'pose  dem  two 
white  fellers  is  gwine  to  do  wid  dat  colored  gent  ?  "  This 
sable  functionary  "  'eluded  to  trabel,"  and  accordingly  set 
out  a  few  weeks  ago  for  Avon  Springs.  Since  then  I  have 
been  without  a  domestic,  and,  by  dint  of  putting  out  the 
washino",  and  having  "  old  Sammy,"  an  honest,  faithful 
neoro  man,  to  come  every  morning  and  "do  up  tlie 
chores,"  I  am  getting  on  very  well  —  nay,  I  enjoy  it  thor- 
ou<dily.  In  fact,  I  did  not  know  the  extent  of  my  own 
powers,  until  necessity  forced  the  discovery  upon  me  ;  and 
as  every  day  strengthens  my  confidence  in  my  own  abilities, 
and  my  husband  declares  that  he  never  was  so  happy  in 
his  life,  I  think  I  shall  give  myself  no  further  trouble  about 
"  helps,"  as  long  as  we  reside  at  Timberville. 


LETTERS  FROM  TIMBERVILLE.  341 

Mrs.  Crandal,  having  now  no  other  means  of  espionage, 
has  struck  up  a  back-door  acquaintance  with  me  ;  and,  I 
beheve,  begins  to  think  me  not  so  proud,  after  all,  since  I 
am  willing  to  ' '  take  right  hold  and  do  "  myself.  She  ac- 
tually brought  in  to  me,  yesterday,  a  present  of  some  very 
nice  *'  turnpike  cakes,"  (did  you  ever  hear  of  them 
before?)  to  raise  bread  with,  and  also  gave  me  directions 
for  using  them,  which  I  intend  to  put  into  practice  next 
baking-day. 

But  there  comes  Mary  Willis.  The  dear  girl's  frequent 
and  unceremonious  visits  constitute  a  great  share  of  my 
enjoyment.  I  have  but  lately  learned  something  of  Mary's 
early  history.  I  intend  to  give  it  to  you  at  some  future 
time  ;  perhaps  in  my  next, 

F.  M.  W. 

29* 


AUISIT    MAGWIRE'S   ACCOUNT 


.MISSION  TO   MUFFLETEGAWNY. 


AUNT  MAGWIRE^S  ACCOUNT 


MISSION  TO  MUFFLETEGAWNT. 


'YE  ben  very  lonesome  lately.  Jefferson's  gone  off 
to  attend  lecters,  and  Isha'n't  see  nothin'  of  him  in 
several  months  ;  but  one  thing  comforts  me  :  when 
he  comes  back,  I  guess  it'll  be  for  good.  He's  about 
made  up  his  mind  to  settle  down  here,  and  everybody 
thinks  he'll  do  well  here  a  doctorin'.  There  ain't  but  one 
person  that's  advised  him  to  leave  Scrabble  Hill,  and  that's 
Samson  Savage.  He  met  Jeff  one  day  when  he  was  home  . 
last,  and  he  says,  to  him  in  his  patronizin'  way,  "  Weil, 
young  man,  they  say  you've  nearly  finished  your  studies. 
Where  do  you  calcilate  to  locate?" 

<«  I've  about  concluded  to  stick  out  a  shingle  h-ere,"  says 
Jeff. 

«<What!"  says  Mr.  Savage,  says  he,  "you  surprise 
me  !  Why,  you'd  be  a  born  fool  to  do  that  —  a  born  fool, 
take  my  word  for  it !  " 

«' Why?"  says  Jeff.  "Don't  you  think  I'll  succeed 
here?" 

"  As  to  that  matter,"  says  Mr.  Savage,  "  I  s'pose  you'll 


346  A  UNT  MA  G  WIRKS  A  CCO  UNT  OF  THE 

do  well  enough  here  In  p'Int  of  practice,  but  you'll  alwaj's 
be  called  JefFto  your  dym'  day,  if  you  stay  here." 

"  That  is  ruther  aggravatin'/'  says  Jeff,  **  but  I  guess  I 
must  grin  and  bear  it,  and  depend  on  posterity  to  do  me 
justice." 

**  Hang  posterity!"  says  Mr.  Savage;  '^  noiv's  the 
present  time." 

I'm  very  glad  Jeff  don't  take  a  notion  to  go  clear  off 
to  Californy,  or  some  other  place  away  out  of  the  land  of 
the  livin' ;  'twould  nigh  about  kill  me  if  he  should.  The 
fact  is,  he'd  ruther  be  wilh  his  father  and  mother  than 
anywhere  else,  and  he's  a  genniwine  comfort  to  us.  Most 
folks  think  he'll  get  a  good  run  of  practice  here  after  a 
spell.  Dr.  Pratt's  gittin'  oW,  and  Dr.  Tinkom  ain't  much 
anj'how  ;  so  Jeff  stands  a  good  chance  to  get  along.  I'm 
sorry  for  one  thing ;  the  Fusticks  are  put  out  with  him. 
He's  got  a  way  of  blurtin'  out,  you  know,  a  good  deal  like 
his  father ;  he  don't  mean  nothin'  by  it,  but  he  made  the 
Fusticks  mad.  I  hope  he'll  do  his  best  to  mend  the  mat- 
ter when  he  comes  back,  for  I  can't  bear  that  anybody 
should  feel  hard  towards  my  son  :  I'd  ruther  they'd  be  mad 
at  me.  'Twas  a  little  time  before  Ann  Eliza  was  married 
—  the  last  time  Jeff  was  home. 

What !  didn't  you  know  Ann  Eliza'd  popped  off? 
Well,  she  has  ;  she's  married  a  missionary,  and  gone  away 
off  to  convart  the  heathen  in  the  island  of  Muffletegawny. 
I  don't  know  as  that's  exactly  the  name,  but  it's  as  nigh  as 
I  can  come  to  it,  anyhow.  Ain't  it  sing'lar  that  such  a 
highty-tighty,  flirtin'  thing  should  ketch  a  missionary? 
She  ain't  much  like  Mr.  Parson's  wife ;  she  'twas  Urainy 
Slammerkin,  old  Slammerkin's  daughter.  I  know'd  her ; 
she  was  raised  in  Wiggletown,  where    I  was  brought  up. 


MISSION  TO  3IUFFLETEGAWNY.  347 

She  was  quite  a  religious,  sober-minded  young  woman. 
Married  Reuben  Parsons,  from  Tuckertown,  a  good  sort 
of  a  critter,  but  ruther  softy.  They  went  on  a  mission  to 
the  —  the  what-do-ye-call-'ems.  I  never  can  remember 
names.  Their  letters  used  to  be  published  In  the  Gosjpel 
Trumpet.  'Twas  an  awful  hot  country  where  they  went, 
and  the  people  was  dreadful  savages  —  didn't  wear  no 
clothin'.  Some  of  'em  went  to  Mr.  Parson's  meetins, 
tJiough  they  couldn't  understand  a  word  he  said. 

Well,  the  WIggletown  and  Tuckertown  ladies  read  the 
accounts  In  the  Gospel  Trumpet,  and  they  was  wonderfully 
scandalized  to  think  the  poor  critters  hadn't  nothin'  to 
wear  to  meetin' ;  so  they  clubbed  together,  and  made  up  a 
great  box  of  clothin',  and  sent  over  to  'em  all  sorts  of 
things,  ever  so  many  frocks,  and  petticoats,  and  hoods, 
and  pantaloons,  and  so  forth.  The  Parsonses  distributed 
'em,  and  made  the  savages  understand  they  was  to  wear 
'em  to  meetin'.  So  the  next  time  Mr.  Parsons  preached, 
In  come  the  barbarians  rlo^sjed  out  in  hlo^h  snuff.  The  men 
was  swelterin'  under  the  hoods,  with  the  sweat  all  streamin' 
down  their  faces,  and  the  wimmin  had  the  pantaloons  round 
their  necks,  as  if  they'd  been  long  shawls.  The  frocks  and 
petticoats  they  fetcht  along,  and  spread  'em  out  to  sit  on. 

After  the  Parsonses  had  been  there  about  ten  years,  I 
saw  a  notice  In  the  Gospel  Trumpet  —  I'd  left  WIggletown 
then  —  sayin'  that  **  the  Reverend  Reuben  Parsons  and  his 
wife,  our  devoted  missionaries  to  the  —  the  thingumbobs, 
(I  wish  I  could  ever  remember  names)  had  left  their 
field  of  labor,  and  returned  to  this  country,  for  the  purpose 
of  bringin'  over  their  eight  children,  to  leave  'em  here.  It 
was  their  intention  to  dispose  of  the  children  here  and 
there,  and  then    return   to  their  Interestin'  portion  of  the 


348  AUNT  MAG  WIRE'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE 

Lord's  vineyard."  I  thought  there  must  be  some  mistake 
about  it.  "  It  can't  be  possible,"  says  I,  **  that  any 
mother  would  be  willin'  to  give  up  her  children  in  that 
way.  I'd  as  soon  tear  out  my  eyes  as  do  it."  Well,  I 
happened  to  meet  Mr.  Parsons  and  his  wife  when  they 
was  in  this  country.  I  was  over  to  Wiggletown  a  visitin', 
and  they  came  there  to  see  their  friends  and  bring  a  couple 
of  their  daughters  to  give  away.  Miss  Major  Coon  took 
one  —  she  hadn't  no  children  —  and  Parson  Potter's  wife 
took  t'other ;  she  had  nine  of  her  own  already.  I  says  to 
Miss  Parsons,  *'  Urainy,"  says  I,  "  'taint  true,  is  it,  that 
you're  a  gwine  to  leave  your  children  scattered  'round,  and 
go  back  to  heathen  lands  ?  " 

«*  Certingly,"  says  she. 

«' Well,  I'll  give  it  up,  now,"  says  I:  *«I  thought  it 
must  be  a  mistake.  Why,  what's  your  object  in  leavin' 
your  children,  if  you  must  go  back  yourself?" 

*'  Oh,"  says  she,  *'  I  want  to  devote  the  hull  of  my 
time  and  energies  to  the  heathen." 

*«  Well,"  says  I,  '*  I  should  think  if  you  did  your  duty 
by  them  eight  children,  you  couldn't  'a  had  much  time  to 
attend  to  the  savages.  See  !  you've  ben  there  ten  years  ; 
you  must  'a  got  'em  to  a  pretty  high  state  of  civilization  by 
this  time,  for  I  remember  hearin',  when  you'd  ben  there 
only  six  months,  that  the  wimmin  had  larnt  what  their 
*  rights  '  was,  and  put  on  the  pantaloons." 

Miss  Parsons  looked  at  me  with  the  greatest  astonish- 
ment, and  says  she,  *' You  don't  seem  to  understand  the 
subject.  Miss  Magwire." 

*'  I  guess  I  don't,"  says  I,  *«  for  I  confess  it's  an  onac- 
countable  mystery  to  me  how  you  can  be  willin'  to  give  up 
your  own  children  so." 


MISSION  TO  MUFFLETEGAWNT.  310 

**  I  never  regarded  'em  as  my  own,"  says  she ;  "  I  look 
upon  'em  as  only  lent  to  me  by  the-Lord." 

'*  So  much  the  worse,  then,"  says  I.  **  If  they  belong 
to  the  Lord,  and  He's  only  lent  'em  to  you,  of  course 
you'd  ought  to  be  all  the  more  careful  of  'em,  so's  to  be 
able  to  give  a  good  account  of  your  stewardship." 

'*  But  you  know,"  says  she,  '<  Scripter  commands  us  to 
leave  all  and  foller  the  Lord." 

<*  Well,"  says  I,  '*  I  never  s'posed  that  meant  we  was 
to  give  away  our  children  and  go  off  to  heathen  lands, 
though  I  don't  pretend  to  be  much  of  a  hand  at  interpretin' 
Scripter." 

**  But  you  know,"  says  she,  **  the  great  work  of  con- 
vertin'  a  world  lyin'  in  wickedness  has  got  to  be  done. 
The  Apostles  was  commanded  to  go  preach  the  gospel  to 
every  cretur." 

'*I  know  it,"  says  I,  *'but  the  wimmin  wa'n't  com- 
manded to  go.  We  don't  read  that  the  Apostles  took 
waives  along.  And  them  seventy  that  was  sent  out  — 
s'posen  they'd  all  had  wives  with  'em,  how  much  good  do 
you  think  they'd  'a  done  ?  And  after  a  few  years  what  if 
they'd  'a  sent  home  eight  times  seventy  children  —  granting 
they'd  each  had  your  number  —  for  the  church  to  take 
care  of?  I  guess  they'd  'a  had  to  found  an  orphan  asylum 
to  put  'em  in." 

*<  Well,"  says  she,  ''I  can  truly  say  that  I'm  perfectly 
willin'  and  resigned  to  part  with  eyery  one  of  my  children, 
trustin'  that  the  Lord  will  take  care  of  'em." 

*<It's  time  enough  to  exercise  resignation  when  the 
Lord  calls  for  'em,"  says  I;  «*  but  as  long  as  He  spares 
'em  to  you,  it  seems  to  me  you'd  ought  to  consider  it  your 
30 


350  AUNT  MAGWIRJU'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE 

greatest  duty  and  privilege  to  stay  with  'em,  and  do  for 
'em  as  nobody  but  a  mo'ther  can." 

**  I  see,"  said  she,  **  you  don't  understand  the  subject  at 
all.  Miss  Magwire." 

**  I  guess  I  don't,"  says  I. 

Whether  Miss  Parsons  was  mistaken  or  not,  I  know  she 
meant  to  do  right,  for  she  was  a  good  woman,  a  good, 
pious  woman,  enough  better  than  I  be,  though  I  wouldn't 
'a  done  as  she  did  for  all  the  world. 

But  I  was  gwine  to  tell  about  Deacon  Fustick's  daughter 
gittin'  married.  I  was  surprised,  and,  I  must  say, 
amused,  at  the  performances.  Her  mother's  a  dreadful 
manuverin'  woman,  you  know,  always  figurin'  round  to 
get  beaux  for  her  daughters,  in  an  awful  hurry  to  get  'em 
married  off.  Sing'lar,  ain't  it,  that  any  mother  can  feel 
so?  Why,  when  Nancy  was  married  and  left  me,  it  eny 
most  broke  my  heart,  though  she  was  only  an  adopted 
child.  I  didn't  want  to  oppose  it,  you  know,  for  she  got 
a  very  likely  young  man.  But  Miss  Fustick  don't  seem 
to  care  much  who  nor  what  her  girls  get,  if  she  can  only 
marry  'em  off.  Amanda  wa'n't  but  sixteen  when  she  was 
married ;  her  mother  made  the  match  entirely,  and  the 
man's  a  miserable  stick.  There's  no  tellin'  the  trials  poor 
Amanda's  underwent  since  she  took  him.  But  it  didn't 
seem  to  be  no  warnin'  to  Miss  Fustick  at  all.  She  went  on 
manuverin'  and  ilourishin'  round,  pokin'  her  girls  forrard 
into  the  face  and  eyes  of  all  the'young  men,  till  she  suc- 
ceeded in  gettin'  rid  of  'em  all  but  Ann  Eliza,  and  she 
done  her  best  for  her  too  ;  but  somehow  she  didn't  seem  to 
take.  She's  ruthcr  a  pretty-lookin'  girl,  but  she  was  so 
lazy,  and  so  fond  of  dress,  and  so  etarnally  in  the  streets, 
laughin',  and  hoUerin',  and  bawlin*  at  everybody  she  met, 


MISSION  TO  MUFFLE  TEG  AWNY.  o51 

and  doln'  everything  she  could  to  attract  attention,  that  she 
overshot  the  mark.  Nobody  didn't'  seem  to  take  a  fancy 
to  her  ;  the  young  men  seemed  willin'  enough  to  beau  her 
round,  but  they  didn't  want  her  for  a  wife.  At  length, 
her  mother  begun  to  get  discouraged  about  her ;  so  last 
fall  she  packed  her  off  to  spend  the  winter  in  Gambletown, 
where  they've  got  some  rich  elbow  cousins.  The  theologi- 
cal siminary's  located  there,  you  know,  and  I  s'pose  she 
thought  'twould  be  a  good  place  to  try  her  luck. 

She  called  to  our  house  one  day  in  the  winter,  and  told 
me  she'd  had  such  a  gratifyin'  letter  from  Ann  Eliza,  she 
wished  she'd  a  thouo-ht  to  fetch  it  alonsf  with  her  and  read 
it  to  me.  Ann  Eliza  had  become  so  very  much  interested 
in  the  cause  of  foreign  missions,  and  felt  to  regret  that  she 
hadn't  hitherto  entered  more  fully  into  her  ma's  views  and 
feelin's  on  that  subject.  "  You  know,"  says  Miss  Fustick, 
*'  that's  a  cause  that  lies  very  near  my  heart." 

I  was  surprised  enough  to  hear  it  of  Ann  Eliza  ;  but  I 
knowd  there  was  something  behind  the  curt'in,  and  waited 
patiently  to  see  what  Iwas.  The  next  time  I  saw  Miss 
Fustick  she  told  me  that  Ann  Eliza  had  got  so  exercised 
in  view  of  the  dreadful  condition  of  the  heathen,  especially 
the  Muffletegawnys,  that  she'd  made  up  her  mind  to  go 
on  a  mission  to  'em  if  pa  and  ma  was  willin'.  "  Of 
course  we  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  have  her  go,"  says  Miss 
Fustick.  Well,  I  was  surprisder  than  ever,  and  couldn't 
help  tellin'  her  so  ;  but  she  didn't  seem  to  consider  it  any- 
thin'  strangle  at  all.  And  It  never  once  entered  her  head 
to  think  but  what  Ann  Eliza  was  a  very  suitable  person 
for  such  an  undertakin'. 

"  Law  me  !  "  says  I,  "if  she's  in  such  distress  to  go  on 
a  mission,  send  her  up  here  to  Puddenbag  Lane ;    'taint 


352  AUNT  MAGWIRKS  ACCOUNT  OF  THE 

far  off,  and  she  couldn't  desire  to  see  a  more  heathenish  set 
than  the  folks  that  live  there ;  'twould  be  a  first-rate  field 
of  labor."  Miss  Fustick  gin  me  one  of  her  looks,  and 
walked  off  without  sayin'  another  word. 

A  few  weeks  after  that,  Ann  Eliza  got  home,  and  then 
the  mystery  was  all  explained.  She'd  got  a  beau  !  a  Mr. 
Simpson,  a  missionary  to  the  Mufiletegawnys  (I  guess 
that's  the  name) .  He'd  lost  his  wife  about  six  months 
before,  and  come  back  to  get  another,  and  fetch  his  six 
children  over  to  make  this  country  a  present  of  'em.  He 
was  edicated  at  the  Gambletown  Siminary.  So  he 
went  there  to  look  round,  got  acquainted  with  Ann  Eliza. 
She  was  wonderfully  interested  in  his  accounts  of  Muffle- 
teo-awny,  and  he  was  wonderfully  interested  in  her.  In 
short,  they  got  engaged  about  a  week  after  they  first  saw 
each  other.  He  was  tp  sail  in  a  few  weeks,  and  Ann 
Eliza  came  home  to  make  preparations  for  leavin'. 

I  declare  I  couldn't  help  laughin'  to  see  how  hard  she 
tried  to  look  dignified  and  solemn.  I  called  to  see  her  a 
few  days  after  she  got  home.  Jeff  went  with  me  ;  he  and 
she  was  old  cronies ;  they'd  had  many  a  frolic  together. 
She  was  wonderful  stately  to  us,  had  her  face  drawd  down 
about  half  a  yard  long. 

<«  So,  Ann  Eliza,"  says  Jeff,  *«  it  seems  you're  O  P  H 
for  Muffletegawny  ! " 

<«  Yes,"  says  she,  with  a  doleful  kind  of  a  look,  <<  I'm 
about  to  enlist  in  the  cause  of  missions.  Oh,  Jefferson  ! 
how  rejoiced  I  should  be  if  you'd  become  a  missionary  ! " 

*'  Should  !  "  says  Jeff,  says  he,  *'  do  you  think  I  could 
cut  out  Mr.  Simpson  ?  " 

Ann  Eliza  skrewed  the  corners  of  her  mouth  and  tried 
to  look  dignifider  than  ever,  but  she  had  hard  work  to 
make  it  out. 


MISSION  TO  3IUFFLETEGAWNT.  3jo 

<*  I've  a  notion  to  try,"  says  Jeff,  cockin'  up  his  eye. 
**  You  hold  on  a  spell  and  give  me  a  chance." 

Ann  Eliza  snickered  out,  and  says  she,  ''  Git  along, 
Jeff  Magwire  !  you  make  me  laugh  in  spite  of  myself." 

The  next  day  Deacon  Peabody's  wife  come  to  our  house 
and  told  me  that  the  congregation  was  gwin  to  make  up  a 
box  of  clothin'  for  Ann  Eliza,  and  said  she  s'posed  I'd 
esteem  it  a  privilege  to  contribbit  my  share  towards  it. 
Well,  I  didn't  view  it  as  any  great  privilege  to  be  sure, 
but  I  thouo'ht  I'd  ought  to  srive  somethin',  so  I  said  I'd 
send  a  piece  of  bleached  muslin.  Miss  Peabody  said  that 
Ann  Eliza  had  received  a  good  many  presents,  articles  for 
housekeepin'  and  so  forth,  from  her  friends  in  Gamble- 
town,  and  she  hoped  there'd  be  enough  contribbited  In 
Scrabble  Hill  to  make  up  her  outfit.  She  said  that  the 
ladies  that  wished  to  avail  themselves  of  the  privilege  of 
asslstin'  in  this  great  object  would  meet  at  Deacon  Fus- 
tlck's  the  next  Friday  afternoon  and  sew  for  Ann  Eliza ; 
of  course  I  wouldn't  miss  of  comin',  and  I  might  fetch 
my  contribution  along.  I  told  her  I'd  come  if  I  could. 
And  she  went  home. 

I'd  gin  up  attendin'  the  sewin'  society  since  Parson 
Tuttle  was  sent  off,  for  I'd  made  up  my  mind  there  was 
more  hurt  than  good  come  of  'em.  I  held  a  meetin'  at 
home,  alone  by  myself,  went  into  a  committee  of  the  hull, 
and  past  a  unanimous  resolution  of  disgust  at  sewin'  socie- 
ties in  gineral,  and  the  Scrabble  Hill  sewin'  society  In 
partlc'lar,  and  detarmlned  never  to  attend  it  agin. 

But  after  Miss  Peabody  went  away  I  thought  it  over, 

and  concluded  to  go,  for  'twan't  a  reg'lar  meetin'  of  the 

society,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had  some  curiosity  to  see 

what  would  be  done.     So  when  Friday  came,  I  takes  my 

30* 


354  A  UNT  MA  G  WIRE'S  A CCO  UNT  OF  THE 

piece  of  muslin  and  starts  off  for  Deacon  Fustlck's.  1 
told  Mr.  Magwire  to  come  after  me  in  the  evenin',  but  he 
said  he'd  be  hanged  if  he  would;  so  Jeff  asked  if  he 
mightn't  come.  **  You  may  if  you'll  promise  to  behave," 
says  I.      "  Of  course  I'll  do  that,"  says  he. 

When  I  got  there,  I  found  quite  a  number  of  ladies 
collected,  old  and  young.  The  old  ones  were  knittin' 
stockin's  for  Mr.  Simpson,  and  the  young  ones  was  makin' 
all  sorts  of  things  for  Ann  Eliza  —  capes,  collars,  cuiFs, 
and  what  not.  The  Skinners  was  workin'  a  pair  of  foot- 
stools with  woosted.  Liddy  Ann  Buill  was  makin'  a 
fancy  head-dress.  Polly  Mariar  Stillman  was  embraw- 
derin'  a  mornin'  cap.  Jo  Gipson's  wife  and  Miss  Brews- 
ter was  sewin'  lace  on  to  a  number  of  pocket-han'kerchers. 
Ann  Mariar  Lippincott  was  workin'  a  pair  of  slippers  for 
Mr.  Simpson.  Gloriann  Billins  was  makin'  him  a  green 
velvet  smokin'-cap,  figurin'  it  all  over  with  gilt  cord. 
Anjd  Ann  Eliza  herself  was  workin'  him  a  pair  of  fancy 
suspenders.  The  Peabody  girls  was  makin'  a  blue  muslin 
sack.  Miss  Samson  Savage  was  there,  too,  pickin'  her 
teeth,  and  exercisin'  a  gineral  supervision  over  the  rest, 
orderin'  this  one  and  commandin'  that ;  as  for  sewin',  she 
said  they  needn't  expect  her  to  do  any,  for  she'd  eat  such 
a  hearty  dinner  she  couldn't.  Miss  Fustick  and  Miss 
Peabody  had  gone  over  to  Harristown  to  buy  Ann 
Eliza's  carpets,  and  engage  a  dressmaker  to  come  over 
and  make  her  new  dresses.  She's  got  three  very  nice  silk 
ones,  and  a  number  more,  and  there  want  no  dressmaker 
in  Scrabble  Hill  that  was  fashionable  enough  to  rig  out  a 
missionary's  lady. 

For  a  spell  after  I  got  there,  I  sot  and  looked  with  all 
the  eyes  I  had.     1  didn't  know  what  to  make  on't.     Thinks 


MISSION  TO  MUFFLETEGAWNY.  355 

me  this  ain't  much  such  an  outfit  as  Miss  Parsons  had. 
How  the  times  is  altered  !  I  guess  they  mean  to  astonish 
the  natives.  •  After  a  spell,  Miss  Samson  Savage  spoke 
up  and  says  she  — 

*'  Well,  Miss  Magwire,  do  you  want  some  work,  or  do 
you  calculate  to  set  and  hold  your  hands  all  the  after- 
noon ?  " 

'*  No,"  says  I,  *'  I  want  to  help  if  there's  anything  I 
can  do,  but  I  aint  no  hand  at  fancy  work.  I  fetcht  along 
some  muslin  I  thought  would  do  for  shirts  and  such  ; 
if  there  was  some  things  cut  out  of  that,  I  could  sew 
on  'em." 

So  I  went  into  the  hall  and  brought  it  in.  Ann  Eliza 
got  up  and  examined  it,  and  said  'twas  altogether  too 
coarse  for  such  purposes,  but  she  guessed  'twould  do  for 
very  common 'kitchen-chamber  sheets.  If  I  was  a  mind 
to,  I  might  tear  off  some  and  make  'em.  I  was  kind 
of  hurt,  for  I'd  took  pains  to  pick  out  what  I  thought  was 
a  nice  fine  piece.  But  I  didn't  say  nothing.  I  tore  off 
the  sheets  and  went  to  work  at  'em;  Margaret  Pettibone 
took  hold  and  helped  me.  She  kept  a-tradin'  on  my  toe 
all  the  afternoon.  Mag's  pretty  keen ;  there's  a  good  deal 
of  the  "white  horse"  in  her;  she's  a  good  hearted-girl, 
too. 

Bymeby  Miss  Fustick  and  Miss  Peabody  got  back. 
They  was  in  high  spirits,  for  they'd  made  some  first-rate 
bargains  in  carpets  and  hearth-rugs.  The  marchant  had 
throw'd  off  considerable  when  they  told  him  the  things 
was  to  go  on  a  mission.  ''  I  says  to  him,"  says  Miss 
Fustick,  *'  that  no  doubt,  under  the  circumstances,  he'd 
esteem  it  a  privilege  to  let  us  have  'em  as  low  as  possible. 
He  said,  *  Certingly,'  and  I  think  we  got  'em  very  reason- 
able indeed." 


356  A  UNT  MA  Q  WIRE'S  A CCO UNT  OF  THE 

In  the  evenin'  there  was  several  young  men  come  in. 
And  the  new  minister,  Parson  Pulsifer,  he  was  there  too. 
He's  a  single  man ;  ben  here  since  about  the  middle  of 
winter.  Cappen  Smalley,  and  a  few  more  of  the  richest 
men  in  the  congregation,  after  they'd  got  rid  of  Parson 
Tuttle,  detarmined  they'd  have  a  single  man ;  they  come 
cheaper  than  married  ones,  you  know.  Of  course  all  the 
wimmin  that  had  daughters  to  peddle  off,  and  all  others 
that  was  willin'  to  dispose  of  themselves,  fell  in  with  the 
plan,  and  so  they  gin  Mr.  Pulsifer 'a  call.  He  was 
preachin'  in  Punkin  Hook  on  trial  at  the  time,  and  accepted 
the  call.  He's  wonderful  popilar  with  'em  all,  more  so 
than  any  minister  they've  had  before.  He's  quite  a  young 
man,  and  very  good  lookin'.  He  was  brought  up  a  few 
miles  out  of  Boston,  I  forget  the  name  of  the  place.  They 
think  he's  terrible  eloquent  here,  especially  the  young 
folks.  But,  for  my  part,  I  don't  consider  him  nigh  so 
deep  a  man  as  Parson  Scrantum  was ;  and  in  p'int  of 
plain,  practical  sarmonizin'  he  doesn't  come  up  to  Parson 
Tuttle  by  a  good  deal.  I  try  to  make  the  best  of  him 
though. 

I  always  try  to  like  my  minister,  for  I  do  hate  to  hear 
folks,  especially  wimmin,  forever  findin'  fault  with  their 
minister,  complainin'  about  his  style  and  manner,  or  his 
want  of  this,  and  too  much  of  that,  saying  they  aint  edi- 
fied, and  all  that  sort  of  stuff.  I  don't  often  see  a  minister 
that  I  can't  larn  something  from,  if  I'm  a  mind  to  be  teach- 
able and  take  home  tt>  myself  what  they  say.  But,  some- 
how, Mr.  Pulsifer  puzzles  me.  I  listen  just  as  close  as 
ever  I  can  ;  I  give  my  hull  attention  to  him  when  he's 
preachin',  but  I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  on't.  His  lan- 
guage is  so  kind  of  double-and-twisted,  that  I  can't  for  the 


MISSION  TO  MUFFLETEGAWNY.  357 

life  of  me  make  out  what  he's  drivin'  at.     He  mioht  as 
well  preach  in  Dutch,  for  all  the  good  it  does  me. 

Once  in  a  while  he  has  a  sentence  that  sounds  some  like 
other  folks,  and  I  begin  to  feel  encouraged,  and  hope  he's 
a  comin'  down  to  the  level  of  my  comprehension.  But 
the  next  minute  he's  away  in  the  hyasticks  ag'in,  strino-in 
it  off  about  the  '*  great  All-soul  of  creation,"  and  so  oil, 
and  I  give  it  up  in  despair.  But  I  never  say  nothing  about 
it,  for  I  won't  talk  about  my  minister,  nor  discuss  his  qual- 
ities with  nobody  ;  'taint  right. 

It's  amusin'  to  hear  the  remarks  made  about  him  by  the 
young  folks,  especially  the  girls.  *'  What  a  delio-htful 
preacher!  "  says  one.  ''  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  ser- 
mon ?  "  says  another.  *  *  How  animated  !  "  says  another. 
"I  never  could  go  to  sleep  under  Ids  preachin'."  The 
Skinners  come  up  aside  of  tTeff  and  me  one  Sunday  as  we 
was  gwine  home  from  meetin'.  *'  Don't  you  think  Mr. 
Pulsifer  treated  the  subject  in  a  \QYy  original  manner  ? " 
says  Almira. 

i  i  Very  1  "  says  Jeff,  *  *  entirely  original  "  — 

I  hunched  him,  for  I  saw  he  was  gwine  to  say  somethin' 
he  hadn't  ousrht  to. 

"Don't  you  think  him  very  sublime?"  says  Sophrony. 

'<  Well,"  says  Jeff,  **it's  a  great  deal  to  call  a  man 
sublime,  but  I  think  we  may  safely  say  our  minister  ain't 
but  a  step  from  it ;  for  you  know  Burke  says  "  — 

I  gin  him  another  hunch ,  and  so  he  stopt  short ;  for  I'd 
heard  him  quote  that  remark  before.  Jeff's  quite  inclined 
to  make  fun  of  Parson  Pulsifer,  but  I  never  encourage  him. 
When  we  got  home,  I  told  him  never  to  say  nothin'  dispar- 
agln'  of  his  minister,  and  he  promised  he  wouldn't. 

Mr.  Pulsifer  writes  poetry,  too,  and  the  girls  go  into 


358  A  UNT  MA G  WIRE'S  A  CCO  UXT  OF  THE 

fits  over  it.  To  my  mind,  it's  dreadful  sing'lar  poetry.  I 
never  saw  nothinVto  beat  it.  Full  of  wrong-end-foremost 
words,  and  goes  hitcliity-hitch  along.  Sounds  to  me  like 
savs^in'  through  a  board  full  of  rusty  nails.  JeiF  says  the 
minister's  got  a  high-dutch  muse,  but  I  tell  him  to  hold  his 
tono'ue.  You'd  laugh,  though,  to  see  w^hat  a  time  there  is 
a-settin'  caps  at  him.  The  young  girls  have  all  got  to  be 
wonderful  stiddy,  go-to-meetln'  characters  since  he  came. 
They  wouldn't  miss  the  Wensday  evenin'  lecter  for  nothin'. 
The  Skinners  think  Polly  Maria  Stillman  acts  like  a  fool 
over  Mr.  Pulslfer ;  and  Polly  Mariar  thinks  the  Skinners 
are  desperit  pious  all  of  a  sudden.  Charity  Grimes  thinks 
Liddy  Ann  Buill's  conduct  is  ridicilous  for  a  person  of  her 
age ;  and  Liddy  Ann  thinks  Charity  Grimes  had  better 
e-et  a  wis:^  if  she  wants  to  ketch  Mr.  Pulsifer.  And  so 
they  have  it,  back  and  forth,  all  over  town.  I  can't  help 
bein'  amused,  and  Jeff  has  lots  of  fun  out  on't. 

But  I  was  tellln'  about  the  meetin'  at  Deacon  Fustick's. 
Well,  in  the  evenin'  Miss  Samson  Savage  said  she  wanted 
to  see  the  rest  of  the  presents  that  Ann  Ellza'd  received  ; 
so  ^liss  Fustick  brought  'em  out,  and  spread  'em  on  the 
table.  Grammany  !  it  a'most  dazzled  my  eyes  to  look 
at  'em.  There  was  a  dozen  silver  forks,  presented  by  a 
rich  lady  in  Gambletown  ;  a  splendid  tea-pot  from  another  ; 
a  lot  of  napkin-rings  from  some  young  ladies  in  that  village 
—  Miss  Fustick  said  that  the  Gambletown  folks  was  deeply 
interested  in  the  cause  of  missions  ;  then  there  was  a  couple 
of  elegant  butter-knives  from  Miss  Samson  Savage  —  she 
launches  out  once  in  a  while,  and  does  somethin'  grand  — 
and  quite  a  number  of  articles  for  the  table  that  I  don't 
know  the  names  nor  the  use  of;  and  there  was  no  end  to 
the  capes,  and  collars,  and  neck-ribbons,  and  flummydiddles 
of  all  sorts  that  had  been  ejin  to  Jier. 


MISSION  TO  MUFFLETEGAWNY.  359 

While  we  was  a-lookin'  at  the  things,  Jeffcnme  In.  He 
jest  glanced  at  'em,  and  then  sot  down  by  the  stove  and 
went  to  talkin'  with  Deacon  Fustlck.  I  felt  relieved,  for  I 
was  afraid  he'd  be  makin'  some  of  his  speeches.  There 
was  a  number  more  young  men  come  In,  and  after  a  spell 
Mr.  Pulsifer  arriv.  When  he  made  his  appearance,  we 
all  sot  down,  and  there  was  a  gineral  time  of  puckerin' 
and  primmin'  among  the  girls.  Almira  Skinner  draw'd 
her  chair  up  to  the  table,  and  went  to  readin'  In  a  Bible 
that  laid  there,  as  If  there  wan't  nobody  In  the  room  but 
herself.  The  conversation  turned  on  to  the  subject  of 
missions  before  long,  and  Isliss  Fustlck  said  she  hoped 
Ann  Ellza'd  have  grace  to  sustain  her  In  her  great  under- 
takin'." 

"  I  hope  so  too,  ma,"  says  Ann  Eliza.  She  sot  twirlln' 
a  napkln-ring  on  her  fingers. 

The  deacon  remarked  that  *'  'twas  a  orreat  thinof  to  give 
up  all  for  the  sake  of  carryin'  the  Gospel  to  heathen  lands 
—  a  very  great  thing." 

*'  It  is,  Indeed,"  says  Ann  Eliza,  glancin'  at  the  butter- 
knives. 

Parson  Pulsifer  said  something  about  *' heart  devotion 
and  world-wide  Influence,'  and  then  Charity  Grimes  begun 
to  talk  away  about  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  a  min- 
ister's wife,  both  at  home  and  In  forelm  lands  ;  she's  sot 
a  long  tongue.  Miss  Samson  Savage  winked  at  the  Still- 
mans,  and  the  Stillmans  winked  back  agin.  Liddy  Ann 
Bulll  was  settin'  beside  me,  and  says  she,  "  Did  you  ever  ! 
that's  to  let  Mr.  Pulsifer  know  how  well  she  understands  a 
minister's  wife's  duty." 

Polly  Mariar  Stillman  said  she  intended  to  propose  to 
the  ladles,  at  the  next  meetin'  of  the  sewin'  society,  to  pay 


3G0  AUNT  MAGYilRE'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE 

for  the  eddlcation  of  one  of  the  Muffletegawiij  boys,  to  be 
named  *«  Jeremiah  Pulsifer."  Mr.  Pulsifer  bowed,  and 
thanked  her  for  the  compliment.  I  couldn't  help  pityin' 
the  poor  little  savage,  whoever  he  might  be,  that  had  got 
to  have  such  a  name. 

Jeff  spoke  up,  and  says  he,  "  I  don't  know^  much  about 
these  Muffletegawmys  ;  desperate  heathen,  I  s'pose,  though, 
ain't  they,  Ann  Eliza?  " 

'<  O  yes,"  says  she,  «'  they're  victims  of  idolatry." 

<«  Poor  benighted  barbarians  ! "  says  Jeff,  with  a  groan, 
**how  I  pity  'em!" 

Miss  Fustick  was  sittin'  t'other  side  of  Liddy  Ann  Buill, 
and  she  reached  acrost,  and  hunched  me,  and  says  she, 
**  Has  Jefferson  experienced  religion?  " 

*'  Not  in  partlc'lar,"  says  I. 

*«  I  didn't  know  but  he  had,  from  the  way  he  spoke," 
says  she.  '*  Thought  perhaps  they'd  had  a  special  effort  in 
Coonville,  and  he'd  ben  brought  in." 

<«  Hereafter,"  says  Jeff,  very  solemnly,  "  I  shall  take  a 
great  interest  in  the  Muffletegawnys." 

Miss  Fustick  reached  acrost  agin,  and  says  she,  "  De- 
pend on't,  Miss  Mag  wire,  he's  exercised  in  his  mind,  any- 
how. I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Ann  Eliza's  mission  had  set 
him  a-thlnkin'." 

Jeff  groaned  agin.  *«  Poor  critters  !  "  says  he  ;  and  he 
lookt  at  the  wall  and  shook  his  head.  You'd  'a  thought 
his  hull  soul  was  wrapt  up  in  the  heathen.  The  young 
men  stared  and  didn't  say  nothin' ;  Parson  Pulsifer  lookt 
surprised,  and  I  confess  I  wondered  myself  what  Jeff  was 
up  to. 

*'  It's  a  great  work,  Brother  Pulsifer,"  says  Deacon 
Fustick,    '*  a  great    and  glorious    work,    this   mission   to 


MISSION  TO   MUFFLETEGAWNY.  oGl 

< 

Maffletegawny,  and  I  feel  to  rejoice  that  a  daughter  of 
mine  is  about  to  take  her  life  in  her  hand  and  go  forth  to 
engage  in  it." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  says  I,  *'  I  don't  see  how  you  can  bear 
the  idea  of  partin'  witli  her  to  go  so  far  off;  like  enough 
you  never'il  see  her  agin." 

*' Oh,  Miss  Magvvire,"  says  Deacon  Fustick,  **you 
hain't  got  the  right  kind  of  feelln'  about  it ;  we'd  ought  to 
rejoice  "  — 

Miss  Fustick  interrupted  him,  and  says  she:  "  For  my 
part,  if  I  had  half  a  dozen  daughters  left,  I  should  esteem 
it  a  privilege  to  have  'em  all  devoted  to  such  a  work." 

*'  Well,"  says  I,  "I  can't  -feel  so,  nor  I  can't  see  how 
anybody  can." 

'*  Mother,"  says  Jeff,  very  seriously,  ''  you  don't  under- 
stand it  all ;  you  don't  view  it  in  the  right  light." 

*' You're  right,  Jefferson,"  says  Ann  Eliza;  ''your 
ma's  views  are  peculiar ;  I  hope  you'll  convince  her  of  her 
error." 

''I  shall  try,"  said  Jeff,  and  he  gin  another  dreadful 
groan. 

Miss  Fustick  poked  over  to  me  agin,  and  says  she, 
*'  Take  my  word  for't,  Jeff's  under  consairn,  and  he'll 
come  out  before  lono;." 

"  Mother,"  says  he,  "jest  consider  the  condition  of  the 
Muffletegawnys ;  think  how  deplorably  ignorant  they  are. 
Why,  they  never  saw  nor  heard  of  7wpJdn-rings,  butter- 
knives,  silver  forks,  and  so  forth  !  and  I  don't  s'pose  they 
know  a  smokin'-cap  from  a  stage-driver's  jockey  !  Now, 
ain't  it  important  that  they  should  be  taught  the  use  of 
such  articles  as  soon  as  possible,  and  learn  how  C/iristitms 
live?  It's  a  great  work,  mother,  a  very  great  work." 
31 


362  AUNT  31  AG  WIRE'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE 

For  a  spell  after  Jeff  had  freed  his  mind,  there  wa'n't  a 
word  said  by  nobody.  Deacon  Fustick  ham'd  and  haw'd, 
Miss  Fustick  lookt  perfectly  stumpt,  and  Ann  Eliza  didn't 
seem  to  know  what  to  make  on't.  Bymeby,  Margaret 
Pettibone  whispered  to  me,  and  says  she,  "  I  guess  Jeff's 
come  out  ruther  sooner  than  Miss  Fustick  expected." 

After  a  spell,  Deacon  Fustick  requested  Mr.  Pulslfer  to 
**  address  the  throne  of  grace."  Somehow  I  don't  like  to 
hear  that ;  it  sounds  too  much  like  sayin'  "  make  an  ora- 
tion to  the  Lord  !  "  When  the  prayer  was  ended,  we  all 
went  home. 

After  Jeff  and  I  got  out  of  hearin',  I  scolded  him 
soundly.  **  Jeff,"  said  I,  "  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  How 
could  you  sarve  me  such  a  trick,  after  promisin'  not  to  cut 
up?" 

*'  O,  no,  mother  dear,"  says  he,  *<  you're  nv!staken  ;  I 
didn't  promise  so.     I  said  I'd  behave,  and  didn't  I?" 

Ann  Eliza  was  married  a  few  weeks  after.  They  had 
quite  a  weddin'.  Husband  and  I  was  invited,  hut  Jeff 
wasnh;  and,  on  the  hull,  I  was  glad  on't,  for  if  he'd  'a 
ben  there,  like  enough  he'd  'a  let  out  another  link.  Hus- 
band went  with  me  ;  he  was  cur'us  to  see  Mr.  Simpson, 
and  so  was  I.  He  was  quite  a  spruce,  good-lookin', 
youngerly  man,  with  big  whiskers  and  gold  spectacles. 
His  riggin'  throughout  was  all  in  the  latest  fashion.  Tlie 
girls  all  thought  his  manners  was  very  polished,  but  there 
was  ruther  more  bow  and  scrape  about  him  than  I  like  ; 
I'm  old-fashioned,  though. 

Parson  Pulslfer  married  'em,  and  I  tell  you  he  did  it 
higli  snuff.  After  the  cake  was  past  round  there  was  a 
great  time  about  a  ring  that  they  pretended  was  in  it,  and 
the  one   that   got    it  would   be   married  next.      Of  course 


MISSIOJ^  TO  MUFFLE  TEG  A  WNY.  363 

'twas  all  hurraw  boys,  and  giggle  and  titter  for  the  rest  of 
the  evenin'.  But  Ann  Eliza  sot  still  on  the  sofy,  and 
lookt  as  interesting  as  she  could.  I  didn't  see  her  stir  all 
the  evenin'.  A  short  time  before  we  broke  up,  Miss  Fus- 
tick  went  round  and  brought  'em  to  order,  and  we  had 
several  ' '  addresses  to  the  throne  of  grace. "  Deacon  Fus- 
tick  led.  Deacon  Parker  and  Deacon  Peabodj  follered, 
and  Mr.  Pulsifer  closed.  After  that  they  sung  "  From 
Greenland's  icy  mountains,"  for  a  windin'  up.  Then  we 
bid  Ann  Eliza  good-by,  and  went  home. 

They  left  the  next  day.  There  was  quite  a  number  of 
waggin  loads  of  young  folks  went  over  to  Harristown  with 
'em  to  see  'em  take  the  cars.  Jeff  went  too  ;  he  didn't 
lay  it  up  not  being  invited  to  the  weddin'.  Margaret  Pet- 
tibone  said  that  when  JefF  went  up  to  bid  Ann  Eliza  good- 
by,  he  gin  her  a  good  smack,  and  says  he,  "  Now,  Ann 
Eliza,  if  Mr.  Simpson  don't  use  you  well,  let  me  know, 
and  ril  come  over."  Mr.  Simpson  didn't  know  who  JefF 
was,  and  he  stared  over  his  gold  specs  in  perfect  astonish- 
ment. 

Parson  Pulsifer  writ  a  piece  of  poetry  on  the  occasion. 
'Twas  printed  in  the  Gospel  Trumpet  and  copied  into  the 
Scrabble  Hill  Liimhiary.  I  saved  the  paper  that  had  It  in. 
I'll  get  It,  and  you  may  refld  it ;  read  it  out  loud,  and  see 
If  It  doesn't  kind  of  make  yer  jaws  ache. 

THOUGHTS  ON  THE  FAR-GOING  OF  THOSE  TWO  DEVOTED  SOULS 
TO  THE  MISSION-LAND  OF  MUFFLETEGAWNY. 

Go  !  haste,  great-hearted  pair  I 
The  big,.heaven-seut  message  bear 

To  heathenism's  wildernesses  — 
The  niglit-darJi  ref,'-ions  where 

Superstition's  demon  hisses. 
Over  darkness'  realm  forlorn 
Up-raisc  the  gospel  horn. 


364  THE   MISSION  TO  MUFFLE  TEG  AWNY. 

High  !  high  !  and  blow  I  blow  I  blow  ! 
A  blast,  loud,  long:,  earth-sundering, 
Which  roaring,  rumbling,  thundering, 

From  pole  to  pole  shall  go  ! 
Till  the  black,  sky-high  throne, 

Which  the  dire  all-fiend  uprears, 
Tumbles  down,  stone  after  stone, 
As  a  huge  skeleton  bone  after  bone 
Cru«ables  to  demolition, 
In  the  down  depths  of  perdition, 

And  world-wide  disappears. 


Refislup. 


GOING  TO  SEE  THE  PRESIDENT, 


GOIE'G  TO   SEE  THE  PEESIDENT. 


■/Tv^:- 


'OTHER  evenin'the  Deacon  and  I  was  a  settin'  by 
the  stove  ('twas  ruther  a  chilly  evenin') ,  I  a  nittin' 
and  he  a  readin'  the  Paris  Hill  Dimocrat  (my 
husband's  a  terrible  dimocrat,  it's  all  there  is  agin 
him),  when  lo  and  behold,  our  Zebidee  cum  in  (he's  the 
deacon's  son,  my  step  son)  a  clappin'  his  hands,  and  kickin' 
up  like  all  possest. 

*'  What's  to  pay  now?  "  interrigoried  I. 
*'  Hooraw,"  says  he;   "I've  ben  warned."  , 

*'  The  dragon,"  says  I,  "  who's  had  the  audackity  to 
warn  you  agin  sin  and  temptation,  when  yer  father's  ben 
deacon  risin'  twenty  year  ?  " 

*'  Don't  ye  know  nothin',"  says  he,  *'  I've  ben  warned 
to  train,  and  I've  got  to  go  down  to  Skeeterburrer  next 
Monday  to  muster." 

**  O,  grandfer  gracious,"  says  I,  ''I  dident  make  no 
fuss  when  Jabez  had  to  train,  'cause  there  warn't  no  signs 
o'  war  then ;  but  seems  to  me  in  these  ere  days  it's  awful 
danoferous  to  be  a  trainer." 

"  What  for,"  says  the  Deacon,  says  he.' 
"  Why,"  says  I,  '*  my  fust  husband  use  to  say  how't  if 
Van  Buren  ever  got  to  be  President,  ther'd  certing  be  war. 
So  now  he's  appinted,  I  suspect  ev'ry  day  when  the  storm 

(367) 


368  GOING    TO   SEE   THE  PRESIDENT. 

o'  war'll  bust  over  our  heads  ;  and  O,  dear  suz  it's  awful, 
to  think  of  Jabez  and  Zebidee  a  fight  in'  in  the  midst  of 
combatlin'  hosts." 

««  O,  'shaw,"  says  Zeb,  ''  what  do  you  know  about 
war?" 

*«  Or  pollyticks,  eyether,"  says  the  Deacon. 

<'  About  war,  you  sarsebox  !  "  says  I  to  Zebidee.  "  I 
ruther  gess  I  know  as  much  about  it  as  you  do,  for  my 
grandfer  fit  in  the  revolutionery  tussle,  and  I've  heern  him 
discribe  it  time  and  agin.  As  to  pollyticks,"  continyd  I, 
glancin'  at  the  deacon ;  "  I  know  as  much  about  'em  as  I 
want  tew  ;  my  fust  husband  w^as  quite  a  pollyticker,  and 
what's  more,  he  was  on  the  right  side.  He  hated  old 
Jackson,  and  all  the  dimocrats,  like  pison,  and  I  gess  if 
he'd  a  lived  a  spell  longer.  Van  Buren  never'd  a  ben  pres- 
ident, for  he  wouldent  a  voted  for  him,  even  if  he'd  a  ben 
sure  o'  bein'  made  supervisor  for't." 

"  Missis  Gorum,"  says  the  Deacon,  says  he,  *<  I  hope 
you  don't  mean  to  cast  no  refl^exions." 

*''0,  dear,"  says  I,  "do  you  s'pose  you'd  a  ben  made 
supervisor  if  you  hadent  a  quit  the  whigs,  and  jined  the 
dimocrats  ?  " 

**  Permilly,"  says  the  deacon,  says  he,  edgin'  his  cheer 
up  to  me,  and  tappin'  of  me  under  the  chin.  '*  Per- 
milly," says  he,  "  don't  never  say  no  more  about  that  are, 
that's  a  purty  creetur." 

*<  Lemme  alone,"  says  I,  shovin'  oiF.  *«  What  do  I 
know  about  pollyticks  ?  " 

The  deacon  he  lookt  kinder  grieved,  and  took  up  his 
paper  and  went  to  readin'  agin.  Zebidee  he  cleared  out, 
and  we  tew  was  left  alone  by  ourselves.  Arter  a  spell,  I 
begun  to  feel  ruther  onpleasant,  and  thinks  me,  I  show'd 


GOING    TO   SEE    THE  PRESIDENT.  3G9 

ruther  tew  much  spunk  about  that  are  speech  o'  the  Dea- 
con's seein'  it's  the  fust  dlzai'i-eeable  thinly  he  ever  said  to 
me.  Well,  we  sot  so  much  as  an  hour,  and  feeling  my- 
self intirelj  onable  to  indure  the  hidins  of  the  Deacon's 
countenance  any  longer,  I  jumped  up  all  of  a  sudding, 
run  «p  to  him,  huv  my  arms  round  his  neck,  and  bust  into 
a  terrible  flood  o'  tears.  The  Deacon  was  dretfully  af- 
fected ;  he  imbraced  me  tenderly,  exclamagatin,  — 

**  Milly,  darlin',  you  do  know  suthin'  about  pollyticks  ; 
certingly  ye  know  enough  to  cum  over  onto  the  right  side, 
when  you've  ben  on  the  wrong.     Don't  ye,blessin'?  " 

"  O,  Deacon  dear,"  says  I,  *' don't  never  illude  to  the 
dizagreeable  subjick  of  pollyticks   in  my  presence    agin." 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  says  he. 

Jest  that  mlnnit  sumbody  knockt  to  the  door,  and  says 
I,  "Walk  in,"  and  in  cum  Squire  Jones. 

'*Hooraw!  hooraw  !  "  says  he,  and  then  he  up  and 
danced  a  jig  in  the  middle  o'  the  floor. 

'*  What  in  natur's  to  pay,"  says  the  Deacon  and  me, 
says  we. 

*'  Why,"  says  he,  "  the  President's  a  guayne  to  be  to 
Utica  day  arter  to-morrer." 

*'  You  don't,"  says  the  Deacon,  says  he. 

"Jest  so,"  says  the  Squire  ;  and  we're  all  a  guayne 
down  to  meet  him  ;  all  the  dimocrats  of  this  ere  stiff  dim- 
ocratic  town ;  and  you  must  go  'long,  you  know  the 
papers  tells  about  the  staunch  yomandery  of  the  kentry  ; 
the  back-bone  o'  the  nation  turnin'  out  to  meet  the  presi- 
dent in  their  lumber  wagglns,  in  rael  republican  stile. 
Well,  that's  jest  the  way  we're  a  guayne.  He's  suspected 
to  Whitestown  about  ten  o'clock,  and  there  "he's  a  guayne 
to  got  off  the  cars,  and  the  hull  town  of  Utica's  a  cum- 
min' up  to  carry  him  down  to  their  place." 


370  GOING    TO   SEE   THE  PRESIDENT. 

<«  On  a  rail?"  says  I. 

"  No,  by  jolly,"  says  the  Squire.  *'  On  a  fust  rate 
hoss." 

''Massy  sakes,"  says  I,  *'If  they  don't  have  a  rail, 
seems  to  me  they'd  or'to  have  a  jackass,  or  sum  sich  cree- 
tur  for  him,  so's  to  look  republican,  and  corrispond  with 
the  flambergasted  waggins  that's  a  cummin'  to  meet  him 
from  all  directions." 

"Oh,  shaw  !"  says  the  Squire,  "  what  do  you  know 
about"  — 

*'  Stop,  Squire,"  says  the  Deacon.  "•  Don't  talk  up  to 
my  wife  tliat  way." 

So  the  Squire  dident  eend  what  he  begun  to  say,  but 
says  he:  "My  wife's  beset  to  go  long,  and  I  tell'd  her 
how't  If  your  wife  would  go,  she  mut  go  tew,  so  what  do 
ye  say  to't  ?  " 

"  Why,  It  depends  on  circumstences,"  says  I.  *'  Sha'nt 
I  have  to  hooraw  nor  nothin'?  'cause  'twould  go  awlully 
agin  my  conshence  to  hooraw  for  Van  Buren." 

"  The  old  boy  !  "  says  the  Squire,  "who  ever  heerd  of 
the  wimmin's  hoorawin'  on  sich  a  'casion  ?  " 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  I  dident  know  but  what  they  did, 
'cause  I  never  went  to  no  sich  doin's.  Well,  He  accompa- 
nate  ye." 

"  That's  you,"  says  the  Squire,  and  then  he  went  hum, 
and  jest  then  Zebidee  cum  hum,  and  right  arterwards  my 
Amandy.  Malviny  returned  from  singin'-school,  and  Kicr 
Simpson  with  her.  (Kier's  ben  takin'  arter  her  risin'  tew 
year.)  Well,  Amandy  and  Zebidee  was  beset  to  go,  so 
we  concludid  to  let  'em.  And  Kier  said  he'd  take  Amandy 
ill  his  survey ance.  Well,  the  Deacon,  and  me  and  Zebidee, 
we  went  Into  tlic  kitcliin^-  and  left  Kier  and  Amandy  alone, 


GOING   TO  SEE  THE  PRESIDENT.  o71 

(vveve  ben  in  hopes  he'd  cum  to  the  pint  and  ax  her  to  have 
him,  for  sum  time  ;  and  it's  high  time  he  did  for  he's  went 
hum  with  her  from  singin'-school  and  conf 'rence  meetin' 
risin'  tew  year,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  the  creetur 
means  by  puttin'  off  so,  for  he's  ividently  very  much  be- 
smitten  with  her,  and  no  wonder,  for  she's  an  oncommon 
interestin'  young  woman,  looks  very  much  as  I  did  when  I 
was  a  gearl ;  there  ain't  a  feller  in  our  place  but  what 
would  be  glad  to  git  her.  But  she's  ividently  more  pleased 
with  Kier,  than  with  ary  other  feller,  and  I  wish  to 
gracious  he'd  suppose  himself  to  her.)  Well,  the  next  day, 
we  was  all  day  a  gittin'  in  a  state  of  reddyation,  and  the 
Deacon  he  tell'd  me  to  dew  up  his  ruffled  shirt,  for  he  said, 
"  seein'  he  was  a  guayne  to  eat  dinner  with  the  President, 
'twas  recumbent  upon  him  to  look  as  slick  as  possible." 

"  So,"  says  I,"yer  a  guayne  to  cat  dinner  with  him,  hay  ?  " 

"  Certingly,"  says  he,  ''  what  else  should  I  go  to  Utica 
for." 

Well,  thinks  me.  If  the  Deacon  wants  to  eat  dinner  with 
the  creetur,  he  may,  and  I  won't  say  nothin'  agin  it,  tho'  I 
druther  be  hanged  than  to  go  long  with  him,  but  I  will 
neverstandin'. 

Well,  the  next  mornin'  we  all  got  reddy  very  airly. 
Zebidee  he  harnessed  the  bosses,  and  Amandy  and  me  we 
habiUated  ourselves  as  follers.  She  put  on  that  are  yali^r 
figgerd  silk  gownd  o'hern,  and  her  black  silk  mankilk-r 
with  white  fringe  round  it,  and  her  pink  slurred  bunnit 
with  a  master  sight  of  artifishel  roses  and  chany  asters  on't, 
and  if  she  dideat  look  purty  it's  no  matter.  I  put  on  my 
cumamon  colored  canton  crape,  'cause  I  reckon  it's  more 
becomin'  to  my  figger  than  ary  gownd  I've  got.  Tlien  I 
wore  my  red  meryno  shawl,  and  my  green  silk  bunnit  sur- 


372  GOING    TO  SEE   THE  PRESIDENT. 

mounted  by  one  long  black  ostridge  fether ;  and  I  must 
say  I  lookt  oncommon  \Yell.  But  goody  grievous  !  how 
Missis  Squire  Jones  did  look  !  Missis  Jones  is  a  master 
nice  woman  and  persessed  of  considerble  intellectitude,  but 
she  haint  no  more  taste  in  the  arrangement  of  her  attire 
than  an  old  cow.  But  I  can't  spend  time  to  discribe  her 
twilight. 

Well,  Kier  he  cum  in  his  one  horse  waggin,  and 
Amandy  got  in  with  him,  and  the  Deacon  and  me,  and 
Zebidee,  we  got  into  our  survey ance  and  purty  soon  all  the 
rest  of  the  folks  cum  along,  and  by  seven  o'clock  the  hull 
sivilcade  sot  out.  Well,  by  ten  o'clock  we  arrove  to 
Whitestown  and  druv  up  to  Capting  Clapp's  Hotell,  and 
arter  takin'  sum  pie  and  cheeze  we  sot  out  to  go  to  the  rail- 
road, the  Deacon  and  me  and  Zebidee  fust.  Squire  Jones 
and  lady  next,  Kier  Simpson  and  Amandy  next,  and  arter 
them  the  rest  of  the  remainder  of  our  townsfolks  ;  and  in 
that  monner  we  plummenaded  dovv^n  to  the  railroad,  and  I 
swonny,  I  b'l'eve  we  extracted  as  much  attention  as  the 
president  himself.  There  was  thousands  and  millions  o' 
folks  in  the  streets  and  they  did  stare  at  us  consairnedly,  at 
me  pertickilerly,  for  I  must  say  I  was  the  most  extinguished 
individyal  in  our  party  in  pint  o' looks.  I  never  was  in  sich 
a  crowd  in  my  born  days. 

Me  and  Amandy  and  the  Squire's  wife,  was  the  ony  she- 
mules  to  be  seen.  And  arter  a  standin' there  as  much  as  an 
liour,  and  the  President  dident  come,  I  says  to  the  Deacon 
savs  I,  *'  Deacon,  dear,  I  feel  kind  o'  timersome  about 
standin' here  among  sich  a  mess  o'  men  folks." 

**  Well,  I  don't,"  says  Missis  Jones,  "  I  ain't  afeard  of 
their  bitin'  of  me."     (Missis  Jones  is  awful  bold.) 

"  O  Kier,"  says  Amandy,  "  I  wish  Ide  a  wore  my  vail, 
the  men  folks  stare  so." 


GOING    TO  SEE   THE  PRESIDENT.  373 

'<  O,"  says  Kier,  "  that's  'cause  they  am't  use  to  seein' 
sich  honsouie  faces."  '<  O  lawful  suz  !  "  says  Amandy  says 
she,  *'  yer  a  blaggardin'  of  me."  Jest  then  the  folks  hol- 
lerd  out  "  the  cars  is  cummin',"  and  sure  enough  purty 
soon  the  injine  cum  a  smokin'  and  buzzin'  and  clatterin* 
along,  and  the  Deacon  and  Zebidee  they  hysted  me  onto 
the  fence  so  I  could  see  over  the  folks. 

*'  Do  ye  see  him?  "  says  the  Deacon. 

**No,"  says  I. 

a  Why,"  says  he,  *'  that  are  gentleman  with  gray  briches 
on  that  they're  jest  a  hystin'  out  's  him.  " 

<'0,"  says  I,  ''do  ye  mean  that  are  short  old  feller, 
ruther  corputent,  with  gray  and  yaller  hair  a  stickin'  out 
so  consairnedly." 

"  That's  him,"  says  he. 

"O  lawful  sakes,"  says  I,  "we  might  a  seen  enough 
better  lookin'  men  without  cummin'  so  fur." 

»*  True,"  says  the  Deacon,  says  he,  "  but  they  wouldent 
a  ben  all  presidents." 

Jest  that  minnit  there  was  a  pussy  man  cum  puffin'  and 
blow^n',  through  the  crowd,  leadin'  a  very  'rantic  boss,  fur 
the  President  to  ride  on  ;  and  a  number  o'  men  took  hold 
and  boosted  Marting  up.  As  soon  as  he  was  fairly  sur- 
mounted, he  spied  me,  and  he  took  of  his  hat  and  begun  a 
bo  win'  to  me  at  an  all  killin'  rate.  I  no  doubt  he  was  very 
much  struck  with  my  appearance,  for  it  did  seem  as  if  he'd 
stare  me  thro'.  *\Vell,'  he  kept  a  bowin'  and  I  kept  a  cur- 
^chyin'  on  the  fence,  till  I  begun  to  feel  ruther  ilustratcd. 

"  O  dear,"  says  I,  "  I  feel  turrible  dashed  to  be  stared 
at  and  bowed  at  so,  Ime  a  blushin'  like  all  natur.  Deacon 
dear,  do  take  me  off  this  ere  pre-eminence." 

"  O  lawful  suz,"  says  Missis  Jones,  '•  I  wouldeut  be 
afeard  o'  the  face  o'  Clay." 


374  GOING    TO  ^EE   THE  PRESIDENT.  ' 

*'  Nor  me  nyther,"  says  I,  *'  for  I  don't  bleve  Clay's 
got  sich  plagy  sharp  eyes  as  Van  Buren  has." 

Well  we  went  back  to  the  tarvern  to  reassume  our 
waggins  and  perceed  to  Utica.  It  had  bid  fair  to  be  rainy 
all  day  and  jest  as  we  got  to  the  capting's,  it  clouded  up 
wuss  than  ever,  and  lookt  as  if  'twould  pour  every  minnit, 
and  Missis  Jones  said  for  her  part  she  want  a  guayne  a 
step  furder,  she'd  no  notion  o'  gittin'  as  wet  as  muck 
for  all  the  presidents  betvvext  here  and  Passamaquoddy 
Bay. 

**  Me  nyther,"  says  Amandy  M.alviny,  *<  I  aint  so 
anxious  to  ride  behind  the  President  as  to  spile  my  buunit 
for't." 

<'  Well,"  says  I,  **  I  aint  no  frind  o'  Van  Buren.  My 
fust  husband  was  a  stairn,  uncountermisin  whig,  and  he 
always  endeevord  to  distill  his  sentiments  into  me,  but 
neverstandin'  that,  Tme  a  guayne  to  Utica,  and  it's  jest  to 
gratificate  my  dear  husband  the  Deacon.  1  aint  afeard  of 
a  little  rain.  Ime  nyther  sugar  nor  salt,  and  Ime  a 
guayne  to  Utica,  I  don't  ker  if  the  Dragon  stands  in  the 
door." 

"  That's  you,  wife,"  says  the  Deacon,  squeezin'  my  hand. 
So  he  and  me  and  Zebidee,  we  got  in  our  waggin  and  rid 
off,  leavin'  Missis  Jones  and  Amandy  and  Kier  to  the 
Capting's,  where  they  said  they  meant  to  stay  till  the 
shower  was  over. 

We  had  to  drive  amnzin'  tight  to  ketch  up^  with  the 
republican  rottenow,  but  at  last  we  got  tew  'em  and  druv 
into  the  citty  at  the  hindmost  eend  of  'em.  Instid  o' 
stoppin'  at  the  hotell.  Van  Buren  went  hum  to  eat  dinger 
with  the  gentleman  that  brung  up  the  boss  for  him,  and 
I  hecrd   (tho'  J  didcnt  see  it)   that  when  he  rid  up  to  the 


GOING    TO   SEE   THE  PRESIDENT.  375 

door,  there  was  a  couple  o'  very  ginteel  young  wimmeii 
cum  out  o'  the  house  and  carried  hini  in  on  a  lady's  cheer. 

"  Well,"  says  the  Deacon,  says  he,  *'  I  aint  a  cummin' 
clear  to  Utica  to  eat  dinner  with  the  President,  and  then 
be  cheated  out  on't,"  so  we  left  our  surveyance  to  the 
tavern,  and  the  Deacon  and  rae  and  Zebidee,  we  walkt 
over  to  the  man's  house.  Well  we  kuockt  to  the  door, 
and  nobody  dident  cum,  so  Zeb  he  gin  a  thunderin'  kick 
and  then  there  was  a  nlirGjer  wench  cum. 

*'  Is  the  President  here?  "  says  the  deacon. 

*'  Yis,  sir,"  says  she.  ' 

"  Well  then,  show  us  into  yer  settin'-room,  we've  cum 
to  dinner."     The  nigger  stared  and  dident  offer  to  stir. 

"  Don't  ye  hear,  you  black  creetur,"  says  I,  "  show  us 
into  yer  settln'-room." 

So  she  opened  a  door  and  rushered  us  Into  a  turrible 
nice  room.  "  Now,"  says  I,  "  go  tell  yer  Missis  to  set 
three  more  addtltional  plates  to  the  table."  So  she  went 
off  and  purty  soon  the  man  that  fetcht  the  boss  up  to 
Whitestown,  he  cum  in  mighty  fierce  with  a  wonderful 
o^Inteel  lookln'  woman  behind  him. 

'*  What's  the  meanin'  o'  this?  "  says  the  man. 

*'  Why,  we've  cum  to  eat  dinner  with  the  President," 
says  the  Deacon,   says  he. 

"Have  hay,"  says  he.  *'Well,  He  tell  ye  another 
story.      My  house  aint  a  tarvern." 

The  Deacon  he  was  bethunderstruck  and  darsent  say 
another  word.  So  I  up,  and  says  I,  "  Mister,  I  gess  if 
you  knowd  who  you  was  a-talkin'  tew,  you'd  be  ruther 
perllter ;  this  ere's  Deacon  Gorum ;  and  he's  not  ony 
deacon,  but  superviser  to  boot,  and  Ime  his  pardner,  and 
this  ere's  our  son,  and  we've  cum  bettern  fifteen  mild  a 
purpose  to  eat  dinner  with  the  President." 


37(3  GOING   TO  SEE   THE  rilESIDENT. 

"Have  hay,"  says  he.  *'Well  Ime  sorry  to  say  we 
can't  accommerdate  ye.  My  wife  haint  cookt  more'n 
enou2:h  dinner  for  she  and  I  and  the  President,  and  Mr. 
and  Missis  Boneset,  have  ye,  ray  dear?"  says  he,  turnin' 
to  his  wife.  (She  stood  there  with  her  honkercher  up  to 
her  face  a-oio-olin'.) 

'*My!  no,"  says  she,  "and  Ime  ferful  we  shall  cum 
short  as  it  is,  if  Mr.  and  Missis  Boneset  is  very  hearty  to 
eat." 

"  Whose  Mr.  and  Missis  Boneset?  "  says  I. 

"Lawful  sakes  !  "  says  she.  "  Don't  ye  know,  why 
it's  the  Secretary  and  Secretaryess  of  War."  • 

"  There, Deacon,"  says  I,  "  dident  I  tell  ye  there'd  be 
war?  Now  I  reckon  the  sooner  we  git  hum  the  better." 
Jest  then  I  happened  to  spy  Van  Buren  a  peekin'  thro'  ix 
crack  in  the  door,  so  thinks  me,  He  giv  him  a  stirrin'  up, 
"  so,"  says  I,  castin'  a  look  of  suvering  contemp  at  the 
man  and  his  wife,  "  Ye  may  go  to  the  Dragon  with  yer 
dinner.  I  don't  want  nun  on't.  I  aint  no  Vanburenite, 
and  my  fust  husband  wouldent  a  wiped  his  old  shoes  on 
Martins^.  He  was  as  stiff  a  whio^  as  ever  trod  shoe 
leather,  and  so  be  I  and  so  was  the  Deacon,  till  Satan 
tempted  him  to  go  over  to  t'other  side.  I  s'pose  the  evil 
one  reckoned  they  needed  one  decent  man  among  'em." 

"  Git  out  o'  my  house,"  says  the  man. 

"  With  all  the  pleasure  on  aiith,"  says  I,  makin'  an  all 
sufficient  low  kurchy,  and  walkin'  off  with  oncommon  dig- 
nitude,  the  Deacon  and  Zcbidee  follerin'.  Well,  it  was  a 
rainin'  considerable  smart,  so  we  went  as  fast  as  we  could 
to  where  we  left  our  waggin,  and  got  in  and  rid  over  to 
Elihu  Slocum's  (he's  an  intimit  frind  o'  the  Deacon's, 
moved  from  our  place  five  years  ago ;  his   wife's  a  veiy 


GOING    TO  SEE   THE  PRESIDENT.  377 

ginteel  woman).  Well,  we  went  there,  and  they  was  ter- 
rible glad  to  see  us  ;  got  dinner  for  ui3,  and  treated  us 
very  perllte.  But  the  Deacon  was  dretful  sober  —  he  felt 
awful  cheap  about  bein'  u&ed  so  by  that  dimocrat  and 
his  wife.  But  he  didn't  say  nothin'  about  It  afore  Mr. 
Slocum,  and  he  winked  to  me  not  tew,  'cause  Slocum's  a 
whio",  and  the  Deacon  know'd  he'd  bother  him  to  everlastin 
about  it  If  he  heerd  on't.  Well,  arter  dinner  Zeb  he 
went  out,  and  purty  soon  he  cum  back,  and  says  he, 
«' Father,  the  President's  down  to  the  hotell  a  shakin'  hands 
with  his  frinds,  don't  ye  want  to  go  down  and  see  him?" 

So  the  Deacon  he  said  he'd  go,  and  he  axt  Mr.  Slocum 
to  go.  Slocum  said  he  wouldent  give  a  darn  to  shake 
hands  with  the  President,  but  seein  'twas  the  Deacon  axt 
him  he'd  go.  So  they  went,  and  byme  by  they  cum 
back,  and  the  Deacon  lookt  considerable  chirker'n  he  did 
afore  he  went;  and  thinks  me,  I  wonder  what's  the  reason. 
Well,  it  slackt  up  rainin',  and  arter  urgin'  Missis  Slocum 
to  cum  and  see  us,  we  started  for  hum.  And  arter  we 
w^as  in  the  waggin  and  fairly  agoin,  the  Deacon  he  says  to 
me,  says  he,  *' Well,  if  I  dident  eat  dinner  with  the  Presi- 
dent, I've  had  an  uncommon  perllte  reception  from  him. 
We  went  into  the  hotell,  and  purty  soon  we  war  intro- 
ducted.  As  soon  as  the  President  heerd  my  name,  he 
says,  says  he,  — 

''' Ah,  Deacon  Gorham,  Pm  delighted  to  see  you;  set 
down  here  a  minnit.'  So  I  sot  down,  and  he  whispered 
to  me,  and  says  he,  '  Deacon,  that  was  a  scurvy  trick  they 
sairved  ye  at  my  frind's  down  here.  I  hope  ye  don't  think 
I  had  any  hand  In  it.  Eealy,  when  I  peeked  into  the 
door  and  see  how  they  used  ye,  and  reflected  that  sittyated 
as  I  was,  it  was  unproper  for  me  to  Interfere,  my  sufFcrina 


378  GOING   TO  SEE   THE  PRESIDENT. 

was  intolerable.  You  must  cum  to  Washington  next 
winter  and  eat  dinner  with  me  at  my  own  table,  and  bring 
yer  wife.  By  the  way,  she's  a  splendid  woman,  I  was 
very  much  struck  with  her  appearance ;  and  that  son  o' 
yourn,  smart  feller  that,  he'll  make  a  man  one  o'  these 
days,  and  no  mistake.  Sorry  I  can't  convairse  a  spell 
longer  with  ye,  but  I've  said  more  to  you  than  I  have  to 
ary  one  individdyal  to-day.  Good-by,  Deacon,'  ^  Good- 
by,  President,'  says  I ;  then  we  shook  hands  agin,  and  I 
cum  off."  Well,  we  went  home,  and  I  tell  ye,  the  Deacon 
never  told  nobody  about  tryin'  to  eat  dinner  with  the  Pres- 
ident, but  he's  told  more'n  a  hundred  times  how  he  had  a 
long  conversation  with  him,  and  what  he  said  about  me 
and  Zebidee.  For  my  part,  Ime  a  whig,  my  first  hus- 
band was  a  thoro'  guayne  whig,  and  I  don't  think  I  shall 
ever  be  anything  else  ;  but  arter  all  taint  in  natur  for  me 
to  feel  so  hard  agin  the  President  sence  what  he  said  about 
me,  as  I  did  afore ;  and  I  haint  made  up  my  mind  yit 
whether  I  shall  oppose  the  Deacon's  votin'  for  him  next 
election  or  not. 


^. 


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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


/4UG0810Q6 


JUL  iii  1997 


12,000(11/95) 


lUJ) 


>.#^ 
j^^*.. 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


\/ 


